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“ Quick as thought, the gentleman hail thrown out a little book, 
which Davie adroitly caught.” 




Peat Cutters 


FRONTISPIECE, 


<? 7 " 



THE * 


LITTLE PE'AT-C UTTERS; 

• « 


THE SONG OF LOVE. 




EMMA MARSHALL. 


P** 9 ' * / 


“He that loveth not, knowetli not God, for God is love.” 


>u * 




NEW YORK: 

ROBERT CARTER <fc BROTHERS, 

630 Broad wa r. 

1869 . 



c-ft , . 

re <5-w 0 . 

5 ~ 

Copy - 

NOV 5 1968 





CONTENTS 


I. 

THE LARK’S SONG 

• 

• 

• 

• 

PAGE 

5 

II. 

A DAY’S EXCURSION . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

18 

III. 

THE ACCIDENT . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

33 

IV. 

HELP COMES TO EFFIE 

• 

• 

• 

• 

50 

V. 

LIFE IN THE PEAT-FIELD 

• 

• 

• 

63 

VI. 

SUNDAY REST . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

78 

VII. 

A DREAM OF HEAVEN 

• 

• 

• 

• 

94 

VIII. 

THE BROTHERS PART 

• 

• 

• 

• 

107 

IX. 

DAVIE’S COMFORTER . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

120 

X. 

LOST AND FOUND 

• 

• 


• 

140 



THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


I. 

®[k park’s Song- 

It was a bright spring morning, and the 
stillness which reigned over the wide peat- 
field was almost unbroken. Sometimes a 
shrill whistle might be heard from one of 
the boys who built up the oblong blocks of 
peat into the brown black pyramids, which 
stood at intervals across the waste. Some- 
times the men, who were cutting the peat 
from its bed, called out to each other in 
their broad Somersetshire dialect ; or the 
women, who were also at work stacking the 
turf, raised their voices in short, spasmodic 


6 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


conversations with their nearest neighbors ; 
but, for the most part, silence reigned. 
Here was no glad chorus of singing-birds ; 
for, with the exception of three or four 
tall poplars, not a tree or bush was near. 

Here was no sound of lowing cattle, nor 
bleating of sheep, for not a blade of pas- 
turage was to be seen. 

The narrow dykes, running transversely 
across the peat-field, lay serenely calm, and 
deeply blue under the sky, seeming to smile 
as now and then the reflection of some tiny, 
feathery clouds passed over them, or a 
moor-bird skimmed their surface for a mo- 
ment, and then, wheeling round on a rapid 
wing, disappeared. 

Travellers in the railway carriages, as 
they passed through this barren district, said 
to themselves that it was a desolate country, 
and perhaps wondered what sort of life the 


A ft 


THE LARK’S SONG. 7 

workers on the peat-fields led, and fancied 
what it must be to live in those thinly scat- 
tered cottages in winter, when the water of 
the dykes often overflowed, and the whole 
waste must be inundated. 

Children looking out on the scene on a 
bright March morning, like that on which 
my little story begins, might think it would 
be fun to build up those curious little stacks 
just as they built their castles with bricks 
in the nursery at home, and resolve that 
they would have a mimic peat-field on the 
very first wet day. And, if the children 
looked with interest oh the little peat-cut- 
ters, as the train glided through the district, 
most certainly the little peat-cutters re- 
turned the’ compliment, and looked with 
interest on them ; for the line of railway 
had been newly made, and the foundation 
on which it rested just here was a some- 


8 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


what perilous one, so that the steam was 
always shut off, and the speed slackened, 
for some eight or ten miles. Thus there was 
an opportunity for those to whom the rail- 
way train was a novelty to watch it as it 
passed, and make out the faces of any pas- 
sengers who might be seen at the win- 
dows. 

As soon as the distant whistle proclaimed 
that the train had left the small roadside- 
station of Eddington, which was nearest to 
the peat-field, a pair of little bare feet might 
always be seen pattering across the uneven 
surface with extraordinary quickness, and 
Davie Malton would take up his position as 
near the line of embankment as possible, 
and gaze up at the moving wonder with 
never-decreasing delight and admiration. 
Once, some weeks ago, the engine had 
proved refractory, and, to Davie’s uncon- 


THE LARK’S SONG. 


9 


trollable joy, the whole train had come to a 
full stop before the child’s eyes. The delay 
was short, but long enough for Davie to 
look up at the window of a first-class car- 
riage, whence a little, earnest face gazed 
down on him, and he heard a trembling, 
eager voice inquire : — 

"Is anything the matter? Shall we be 
hurt? — oh, shall we be hurt?” 

Davie heard the question, and then the 
tones of another voice — a deeply tender 
voice — reassuring the child. 

"No, Effie, don’t be afraid. I think 
nothing is really the matter.” 

Davie then saw that a strong arm was 
round the little girl’s waist, and a gentleman’s 
head was put out of the window ; while 
a guard, coming leisurely along the line, 
said : — 

"All right, sir, we shall go on directly.” 


10 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


Davie wished that the stoppage had been 
longer. He caught a few more words ex- 
changed between Effie and her father, and 
the last, just as the train was moving : — 
"Papa, look at that little boy; he has 
been staring at us all the time, poor little 
boy ! I wonder if he can read? ” 

Then, quick as thought, the gentleman 
had thrown out a little book, which Davie 
adroitly caught, and hugging his treasure 
close, scuttled back over the peat-field to 
resume his work, and dream of the child’s 
sweet face, and the earnest violet eyes 
which had looked down upon him so pity- 
ingly and so tenderly ; and henceforth there 
came a new hope and a new desire into the 
little peat-cutter’s mind. Day after day, 
when the sound of the whistle was heard, 
he ran off to the embankment. Day after 
day, though hope deferred made his heart 


11 


THE LARK’S SONG. 

sick, still he never forgot the face of that 
gentle child, and longed to see it once more. 

Little Davie Malton had led a wandering 
life ever since he could remember anything, 
first in a caravan, when he went with his 
mother to country fairs ; and, since her 
death, he and his elder brother had tramped 
about for work in the peat-field, and clung 
to each other with an instinctive feeling 
that they had nothing else to love in ail the 
wide world. In the mind of the elder 
brother — now a boy of twelve — there had 
arisen a hatred, which had become loathing, 
to the life of a show-boy, which he had fol- 
lowed from his earliest childhood. 

The last dreadful scene of his mother’s 
life had stamped itself in his memory. She 
was compelled to dance, in her thin tinsel 
dress, outside the show, one bitter winter 
night. No excuse and no entreaty availed 


L2 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

with her hard taskmaster, and Robin shud- 
lered as he remembered how she went 
hrough her part, and how he, dressed in a 
tight, gaudy suit, went through his also, 
while little Davie cut capers and coarse jokes 
with an older clown, according to estab- 
lished usage ; and how, after it was all over, 
ais mother sank upon the platform, a stream 
}f blood issuing from her pale lips, and 
ieath upon her poor haggard face. 

That terrible end had decided Robin to 
starve rather than continue such a life ; and 
when the grave closed over his unhappy 
mother, the elder brother had taken the 
younger by the hand, and they had stolen 
away by night from the step-father, to whom 
their services were only too valuable ; and, 
afraid of being discovered by him, and re- 
claimed, had struck out towards the great 
peat-field, where Robin had heard old men 


THE LARK’S SONG. 


13 


and boys could often earn their daily bread, 
far away from the towns where the fairs 
were held which the shows frequented. 

This bright spring morning, Davie re- 
turned from his daily scrutiny of the railway 
carriages with a hop, skip, and jump over 
the dykes, across the rugged ground, to his 
brother’s side. 

" I have seen them — I have seen them ! ” 
he shouted, as he got within ear-shot of 
Robin, " I knowed I should ; ” and in his ex- 
citement poor Davie scattered the first row 
of a stack which a woman had just set up. 
She turned upon him, and dealt him a heavy 
blow on his face, which felled him to the 
ground, uttering a coarse injunction to "mind 
what he was about.” 

Davie picked himself up, and took refuge 
with his brother, who was stacking the peat 
into oblong blocks close by. 


14 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


" She’s been and given me a dreadful blow. 
I hate you, Nance Bligh ; you are a horrid 
old thing ! ” 

"Oh, I be ! be I? Don’t you call me 
names, you young scamp, or you’ll not get 
another night’s lodging out of me.” 

"Who’s calling names now?” said little 
Davie, "if old Nance aint? ” 

Blood was streaming from the child’s nose, 
and smarting with the pain of the woman’s 
savage blow, Davie clenched his small fists, 
and put himself in an attitude of defiance. 
But Robin took the little brown hands in 
both his, and said.,: — 

"No, Davie, don’t do that; let us wipe 
the blood away ; a drop of cold water will 
soon stop it. Here, come on.” 

And then Robin drew his little brother to 
one of the dykes, and, stooping, filled his 


15 


THE LARK’S SONG. 

ragged cap with water, and bathed Davie’s 
face. 

"There, now,” said Robin, in a soothing 
tone, as Davie’s chest began to heave, and 
heavy sobs broke forth ; " every one knows 
what a temper Nance is. I am thinking 
we’ll make off soon, and try our luck at 
yonder town where the big church is. 
Maybe I could get some job there,* and we 
might get out of the sound of all the railing 
and ranting of old Nance.” 

" Perhaps they live there ? ” Davie sug- 
gested, his spirits reviving as the cold water 
soothed the pain of his nose. 

" Who’s they ? ” asked Robin ; " who do 
you mean?” 

" Why, the little girl that I’ve seen look- 
ing out of the train-winder,” said Davie ; 
" she that have got the blue eyes and hair 
like silk, and thro wed me the book, to be 


16 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


sure. I seed her so plain just now ; the 
train always goes slow just there, and she 
smiled, and I think she minded who I was.” 

"Well, you are something queer to look 
at now,” said Robin, " with your nose swelled 
up ; but I must go back to my work, and 
you can do a little too. I’ll turn over in 
my mind about our going away ; and don’t 
you go and make a row with Nance ; let her 
say what she will, don’t you go and answer. 
Bad names hurt them that says ’em more 
than them that hears ’em, — remember that ; 
and those words in the book the little lady 
gave you, — them three pretty words, — don’t 
forget ’em, Davie ; I don’t know what I 
should do without ’em, — ' God is love . ’” 

" Ah,” said Davie, with a sigh, and a 
dubious nod, " he is so far off up there ; 
why, that lark is ever so much nearer than 
we are to him ; ” and Davie gazed up into 


THE LARK’S SONG. 


17 


the blue ether, where only practised eyes, 
like the little peat-cutters’, could have dis- 
cerned the tiny black speck, which, however, 
got bigger and bigger as the lark descended 
earthward, singing as it came. 

"Hark, there’s a song,” said Robin ; "it’s 
as if the lark had been up there to learn it. 
Seems to me the bird knows how true it is, 
that God is love.” 

And then the children went off to their 
work till noon, when they ate their hard 
crust, smeared with a little fat from the 
bacon Nance had for her own dinner, and 
then back to work again till sunset. 

2 


II. 


%, gag’s fetmsion:. 

As the train moved away from Eddington, 
Effie Gresley said, " Papa, I quite believe 
that was the same little peat-cutter we saw 
last summer ; I am sure of it. Don’t you 
remember you gave me a little book to 
throw to him out of the window, and how 
he caught it so cleverly, and then scampered 
away?” 

" I recollect throwing the book out of the 
window, Effie ; but I can’t say I remember 
the boy’s face. Poor little fellow ! it must 
be a sad and dreary life on those moors 
and Mr. Gresley looked out with a sigh 


18 


A day’s excursion. 


19 


over the peat-field, along which the train 
glided. 

"Well, papa,” Effie went on, "I would 
rather be a poor, ragged peat-cutter than 
shut up in a close alley or court in London 
or Manchester. There is the sky to be seen, 
and the stars at night, and plenty of fresh 
air, and such beautiful sunsets there must 
be ! ” 

" And then there are the dark winter days, 
when the whole moor is under water,” Mr. 
Gresley said, " and when those little cottages 
stand in the midst of what looks like one 
large lake. Have you forgotten all that 
side of the picture, Effie, in thinking of the 
sunsets, and the fresh air, and the open 
space ? ” 

" O papa, there are always two ways to 
see a thing, — two sides to a picture, — except 
now, when I am quite happy, as I am to- 


20 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


day. I don’t think I wish anything to be 
different. The day is so fine, and it is so 
nice to be going to Clifton with you ; and 
then there is the pleasure of driving up that 
steep hill, Park Street, in Mr. Falconer’s 
carriage ; and when we get to Riverside 
House, there is the pleasure of going into 
the school-room, and seeing Alice and Lottie ; 
for I do like them very much, though I can’t 
help wondering at them.” 

"Ah, dear child, you are in the spring- 
time of your life, and I like to hear you say 
you are quite happy. But it is well to 
think sometimes of what may truly be called 
the other side of the picture ; and, even 
when travelling on a bright March day like 
this, to think what a number of sad hearts 
may be spinning along in this very train.” 

"In this train, papa? Who do you think 
is sad ? Do you know any oue who is sad ? ” 


A day’s excursion. 


21 


" I do not Jcnow any one, Effie, but I 
think it is safe to say that in the same train 
by which we travel, — and it will be a long 
one, — when we change carriages at High- 
bridge, there are sure to be some aching 
hearts, — some who have just parted with 
those they love best, for a long time ; some 
who are going to consult a doctor about their 
own health or the health of some oue they 
love, or are summoned hastily by a telegram, 
perhaps, to the sick or dying bed of a father, 
or a mother, or a child. But now, Effie, 
here we are at Highbridge, and I see the 
Exeter train puffing up ; so we have no 
time to lose. When we get into the car- 
riages again, you must be quiet, and do not 
talk to me any more till we get to Bristol. 
I want to look over my list of commissions, 
and try to arrange my shopping, so that I 
may have as much time as possible at River- 


22 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


side House. I think I shall leave you in 
the carriage when we get to College Green, 
and make my way to the Downs when my 
business is over.” 

"Papa ! ” said Effie, laughing as she trot- 
ted after her father up the high steps to the 
other side of the Highbridge platform, "I 
heard nurse say, the other day, when some 
one asked her what your profession was, 
* Mr. Gresley is a gentleman at leisure.’ I 
am sure that is a mistake. You are the 
busiest person I ever knew.” 

Effie Gresley had no mother. On the 
same day on which Effie first saw the light 
her mother closed her eyes forever on all 
earthly things, and thus Effie’s birth was as- 
sociated forever in her father’s heart with 
the day of his deepest trial. Sometimes, 
but not very often, Mr. Gresley would 
speak to Effie of her mother; but it was 


A day’s excursion. 


23 


always with such a deep solemnity and sad- 
ness as made the child almost shrink from 
the subject. Her love for her father was 
great and absorbing, and she could not bear 
to see the cloud which would come over his 
face when he spoke of the days when she 
was a baby. Effie did not know in her 
childhood, not till long afterwards, that the 
father who was now giving up his life, as far 
as in him lay, to God’s service, was, till that 
time, a careless, worldly man, whose laugh 
was the merriest of the merry, and whose 
mornings were spent in hunting and shoot- 
ing in the season, and his evenings in giv- 
ing dinners and going to them, in dancing 
and gayety of every kind. Effie never 
knew what pangs of vain remorse her father 
often felt when he recalled her gentle, deli- 
cate mother, who had no heart and no 
strength for all the worldly pleasures in 


24 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


which he delighted ; especially when he re- 
called her as, on that last morning, clinging 
to him with loving caresses, and whispering 
her request that he would give up going to 
the meet and the ball at Bath that day , — just 
that one day. " This is the last of the sea- 
son,” he had answered ; "the last I shall 
attend till next year, — remember, it is the 
last.” And so it was. 

When Mr. Gresley returned to his home 
grave faces met him in the hall, a baby’s 
cry sounded in his ear amidst the wail of 
women’s voices, which told him his wife 
was gone from him forever, leaving a fee- 
ble, tiny infant to him as her dying gift. 
How he loved and cherished that baby no 
tongue can tell ! For eleven years she had 
been the brightness of his life, — a life now 
wholly changed in its aim and purpose, — 
changed by the discipline of an All-wise 


A day’s excursion. 


25 


hand, from self-seeking and worldly ease to 
self-forgetfulness and earnest desire to lead 
his little girl to follow in her dead mother’s 
steps as she had followed Jesus. 

Mr. Gresley’s friends often wondered why 
he should choose to live at Wells, — a quiet 
little cathedral town, they said, with no life 
and no advantages for Effie. It was really 
a great pity ; the child would be sure to grow 
up peculiar, and unlike other girls. Mr. 
Gresley’s notions were very well for clergy- 
men, but not for a layman with a large for- 
tune, to which Effie would be the sole 
heiress. But it was always the way, peo- 
ple said; men, like Mr. Gresley, were sure 
to go from one extreme to another, and 
could never take a middle course. 

Little Effie heard none of these remarks, 
and was quite unconscious that she was the 
subject of them. She was as happy as a 


26 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


bird, and loved her pretty home, under the 
very shadow of Wells Cathedral, with all 
her heart, and thought it the loveliest place 
in the world. Not even when she went 
away sometimes for a visit with her father 
and nurse in other parts of England, and 
saw other houses and families of children, 
like the Falconers, with whom she was now 
going to spend this day in Clifton, did she 
think her own life less happy in compari- 
son. It was very nice, as she said, to drive 
up Park Street in the carriage, and to see 
all the shops and the gay people ; but, in 
her secret heart she felt a pang of pity for 
the Falconers when they told her that they 
had bought two big bunches of primroses 
that day. 

"Do you buy primroses? Oh, they cannot 
be half so nice as when you gather them ! 
The lanes about Wells are full of them now, 


A day’s excursion. 


27 


and the violets in the woods are so beauti- 
ful ! ” 

Effie was in the Falconers’ carriage by 
this time ; the two girls, Alice and Lottie, 
had come to meet Effie, with Mademoiselle 
Yerney, their governess. Mr. Gresley had 
been set down at the corner of College 
Green, and the primroses were mentioned 
to make a little conversation to begin 
with. 

"Wells is a dull old place,” said Lottie Fal- 
coner. "Mamma says she could not exist 
there a week ; but look, Effie, that is the 
Blind Asylum, where your papa says he is 
going when he has done his shopping in 
Bristol.” 

" Oh, yes, I remember. Papa showed it 
to me last autumn, the last day we came, — 
at least, the last day I came. Papa has 
been to Clifton several times since, but he 


28 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


can’t bring me in the short winter days. 
Papa is going to the Blind Asylum to see 
a poor little girl there whose mother lives at 
Dul cot.” 

" The blind give a concert once a week, 
and sometimes we go to it,” said Alice. 
"We took mademoiselle last Wednesday, 
but she did not like it. Mademoiselle is 
6uch fun,” Alice whispered to Effie. 

Effie looked at mademoiselle and won- 
dered what fun could be extracted out of 
mademoiselle, who was busy reading a let- 
ter, and paid little or no heed to what the 
children did or said. 

"We' talk English to-day because it is a 
holiday, and she can’t understand much of 
what we sa\r. She gets furious with us 
sometimes, and then she is fun. Fancy her 
saying the other day that it was a hard walk 
to make to the ' sea wall.’ ” 


A day’s excursion. 


29 


Lottie here interposed, " Well, I dare say 
we say just as absurd things in French as 
mademoiselle does in English, and she 
never laughs at us. Elle est Irojp — ” 

But Alice stopped her sister with an ex- 
clamation, "No French to-day, it is against 
the law,” which roused mademoiselle from 
her letter, and made her entreat that Alice 
would be more gentle, and not startle her 
nerves so greatly. 

The little Falconers were careless, light- 
hearted children, brought up with every 
luxury and indulgence in a home where 
everything that money could procure was 
abounding. The outward form of religion 
was all that was accepted in Biverside 
House, and the great blank which Effie al- 
ways felt there in the midst of her enjoy- 
ment was caused by this. 

" The Falconers are very nice to spend a 


30 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


day with,” she would say to herself; " but 
oh, I would not live with them for the 
world ! It is much happier to be with papa 
and dear old nurse at Wells; and during 
this visit to Clifton Effie felt more than 
usually thankful and contented with her own 
lot.” 

Nevertheless, the walk to the "sea wall” 
that afternoon was very charming, espe- 
cially as her father was their companion. 
The soft turf of the Downs was springy and 
pleasant, and the view of the distant Welsh 
hills clear and bright. The river, too, was 
full, and many stately ships were sailing out 
to sea beneath the great gray rocks which 
rose so grandly above them. The Downs 
were covered with people in carriages and 
people on foot, and all was bright life and 
gayety. 

"Come, Effie,” said Lottie Falconer, 


A day’s excursion. 


31 


" you must allow for once that this is better 
than moping about in the fields and lanes 
round W ells.” 

" This is very nice for a change, but I 
don’t think I should like it always,” said 
Effie ; " it is not the country, you know, 
but it is very beautiful, and I never saw 
those hills before, papa.” 

"Never so clearly,” said Mr. Gresley; 
"the view is wonderfully beautiful to-day, 
and the muddy river looks quite blue for 
once.” 

" It is the reflection of the sky that makes 
it look like that,” said Effie; "is it not, 
papa ? ” 

" Yes, dear,” said her father, giving the 
little hand, which was slipped into his, a 
loving squeeze ; " many earthly things are 
brightened by the reflection of heaven. The 
Sun of Righteousness looks down into dark 


32 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


and sad hearts, and they shine with the light 
with which he alone can brighten the souls 
of his faithful children.” 

Mr. Gresley’s little girl understood him, 
and the look of mutual love and confidence 
which passed between them was very sweet. 
Poor little Effie ! her faith was yet untried 
and simple in its earnestness. Her father 
knew that the current of her life could not 
always flow so smoothly, and he prayed that 
whatever the rough places through which 
she might be called to walk, the path might 
be cheered by the presence of Him who is 
the light and the life, and her way made 
plain before her. 


III. 

§,rairmt. 

Poor, desolate little peat-cutters ! Hard 
fare and hard words were too often their 
portion, and their daily path was a rugged 
one. But good seed had once been sown 
in Robin’s mind. He could dimly remem- 
ber a time when a kind and tender father 
told him of Jesus and his love, — when he 
took that father’s hand, and went to church, 
sitting on his knee, and listening to hymns 
sung to God’s glory, and to Bible words 
spoken in his ear. Then came a dark mem- 
ory of his father’s death, when he and his 
little brother and sister were left to the care 
3 33 


34 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


of his young mother, and she was helpless 
to work for them. A young, fair mother, 
Robin recalled her in those days, and it had 
given his brow a shade of unusual thought- 
fulness that he had seen that mother tempt- 
ed to become the wife of a bad, ungodly 
man, who won her, by promises of caring 
for her children, and maintaining them in 
comfort, to become his wife, and go the 
round of all the country fairs with him, but 
with a promise also that she should take no 
active part in the dancing and singing which 
were the main attraction of " Browne’s Cele- 
brated Adelphi,” as the show was called. 
That promise was not kept : Robin’s mother, 
after the first three or four weeks, was 
forced to do as her selfish, cruel husband 
decreed, — a ceasless alternation of creep- 
ing along the roads in the close dwelling on 
wheels, which was a sad mockery of home ; 


THE ACCIDENT. 


35 


or halting in the market-place of some coun- 
try town, and going through the same rou- 
tine of bad music and coarse jokes without 
the show, and dancing and singing, and 
feeble imitation of the tight-rope dancing 
within it, which poor Blondin was then dis- 
playing to dense crowds at the Crystal Pal- 
ace. Well did Robin remember when his 
little sister died, and was laid to rest in the 
village church-yard, where the caravan halt- 
ed when she was taken ill ; that his mother 
shed no tear for her darling, and made no 
moan, — only repeating, in a voice which had 
a sound of agony in its tone, "It is bad for 
the boys this life we lead, but it would have 
been worse for her. It is better she should 
die, — it is better she should die.” 

" Better she should die ! ” the boy had 
said to himself, and he had no need to ask 
why ; he knew too well. 


36 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


The sun had gone down in a cloudless 
sky, and all the west was one glorious 
belt of amber, melting into softest crimson, 
when the little peat-cutters sat together by 
the railway embankment, — the elder boy 
thinking over the past, the younger only full 
of the idea of a change, and the delight of 
getting away from old Nance. 

" When shall we go, Rob? ” Davie asked, 
— " to-night, when they are all asleep, Rob ? ” 
he repeated, pulling his brother’s long, shag- 
gy hair sharply ; " do speak ; let’s cut to- 
night.” 

"Don't! Be quiet, Davie,” said Robin, 
more crossly than he often spoke to his 
little brother ; " if we go to the town out 
yonder, maybe we shall starve, and we have 
just enough to keep us here ; and what if 
we should hill into Browne’s hands?” he 
murmured. 


THE ACCIDENT. 


37 


"But 37011 said this morning you would 
go,” Davie urged, in an eager tone, " and I 
can’t go on being knocked about by old 
Nance ; it isn’t likely.” 

"Poor Davie ! ” said his brother, tenderly, 
"I aint in a good mood to-night; the lark’s 
song is hard to learn, though I do know it is 
the only one worth learning; but when a 
chap is so put to it as I am, what to do for 
the best, why — ” 

Robin broke off suddenly, for a whistle, 
long and shrill, and a sound of the com- 
ing train, made both the boys start to their 
feet. 

Davie was scrambling up the embank- 
ment in a moment, while Robin followed. 
A great cry rose to Davie’s lips, but it was 
lost in the roar of the engine, which came 
onwards in spite of signals, — in spite of the 
uplifted hands of those on duty, who, too 


38 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

late, had discovered the danger which 
threatened ! Some large blocks of stone 
and timber had fallen from a truck across 
the main line, at a little distance from 
Eddington Station, and though every effort 
was used to let off the steam, the train came 
on towards the great black mass, a few feet 
beyond the place where the boys stood ; and 
then there was a crash and confusion, and 
the engine seemed to rush madly off the line 
down the embankment to the level of the 
peat-held below, wdiile the carriages were 
dragged after it, and in one brief moment 
were seen lying heaped, one upon another, 
in a shapeless mass ; the engiile itself buried 
many feet in the soft, alluvial soil. 

For a few moments Robin and Davie 
stood as if stunned, and then cries and 
shrieks from the crushed carriages roused 
them. 


I 


THE ACCIDENT. 


39 


The porters from Eddington Station came 
running towards the spot. Here and there a 
peat-cutter was seen coming across the field, 
and Robin and Davie also went to the place, 
Davie saying, in a frightened voice, "Per- 
haps she is there, Robin, — perhaps the 
young lady and the gentleman are there. Oh, 
my ! what shall we do ? ” 

Eddington Road Station was far from the 
village itself, and the few cottages scattered 
over the moor were at long intervals. It was 
a desolate spot, and human help seemed 
indeed to be far off. The sufferers were 
carried to the nearest cottage, and that 
cottage was old Nance’s. The engine-driver 
lay dead, and the stoker had both his legs 
broken. Of the passengers some were un- 
hurt, but frightened out of all power to con- 
trol their feelings ; some were scratched 
and bruised ; some were injured more se- 


40 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


verely, and amongst these was little Effie’s 
father, known to Davie only as "he that 
thro wed the book out of the window,” but 
known in that town with the big church as 
Mr. Gresley, a man who feared God, and 
whose alms-deeds and ceaseless ministrations 
amongst the poor, and sad, and miser- 
able, were greater than that of many clergy- 
men. 

Mr. Gresley’s little daughter, Effie, was not 
hurt ; but her voice was raised in piteous 
lamentation and entreaties to her father to 
speak to her, and to say " one word, — just 
one word,” while she wrung her small hands 
in an agony of distress, as she besought 
some one to go for a doctor ; but, in the 
general panic, Effie was not particularly 
heeded. Two more sufferers — -one alabor- 
ing man with an arm and several ribs broken, 
and the other, the poor stoker, groaning in 


THE ACCIDENT. 


41 


his great bodily pain, and breathing out im- 
precations on the carelessness which had 
caused the accident — were laid on old 
Nance’s cottage floor. Mr. Gresley was 
placed on the bed with checked curtains, 
and the other poor men on the straw and 
apolog}' for a mattress, which Kobin and 
Davie shared in a little shed or outhouse 
which leaned against the cottage. Every 
one thought Mr. Gresley was insensible 
to all that was passing, but when Nance 
bathed his forehead with a little water, he 
opened his eyes, and said faintly, "Effie! 
Effie ! ” 

" O papa, papa ! ” and the child threw 
herself on her knees by her father’s side, and 
kissed his hand. 

" Gently, my darling, I think that arm is 
broken. Thank our heavenly Father that 
you are safe.” 


42 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


The words came slowly and with diffi- 
culty. The cottage was full of people, and 
the air hot and oppressive, and the con- 
fusion of tongues and various exclamations 
of pain and pity were bewildering. 

Presently, with a great effort, Mr. Gres- 
ley raised his voice, " My friend,” he said 
to the stoker, " I am very much hurt ; we 
are both in great pain ; let us pray ; it is 
better than cursing.” 

" Curse, ” said the man, "curse — ay, 
curse them that have been the cause of this. 
I a man with a wife and six children ! 
Give us a drink of water, you old hag ! ” he 
said fiercely to Nance, who, with the hope 
of reward, was attending more to Mr. Gres- 
ley and Effie than to the other sufferers ; " I 
shall die outright, I shall.” 

"Go and speak to him, Effie,” said her 
father; "go and take the poor man the 


THE ACCIDENT. 


43 


water; and, my friend, let us see God’s 
hand in this, and ask his help.” 

Effie was rising from her knees to obey 
her father, when little Davie, who had been 
looking on with wondering eyes, took a 
brown and white mug, without a handle, 
and held it to the stoker’s lips, saying : — 

" My brother Bob is gone for a doctor ; 
he can run fast — he can, and he’ll soon be 
back. Hark to the gentleman ! ” 

Mr. Gresley was now heard praying in a 
low, clear voice, stopping every now and 
then as faintness from the pain checked 
his utterance, but setting a bright example 
of the patience he asked for. By degrees it 
seemed that the answer to his prayer came, 
and before the doctor had arrived compara- 
tive calm had succeeded to the clamor, and 
the mantle of peace had descended upon old 
Nance’s cottage. Thus it is, that those who 


44 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


have their feet upon the Kock can shed 
abroad an influence for good, even when the 
storm of pain and trouble rages, and all his 
waves and billows roll over the head of 
God’s dear children. 

Several doctors came together at last, and 
set about giving relief to the sufferers. The 
men must be removed to the Bridgewater 
Hospital, the doctors decreed, but not till 
the morning. 

Mr. Gresley’s case seemed to be more 
complicated than theirs, and Effie was told 
to leave the cottage while the surgeon ex- 
amined the extent of her father’s injuries ; 
but Effie clung to him. 

" Go, my darling,” said her father, gently 
but firmly; and the child, shrinking from 
the touch of old Nance, who said, " Come 
along with me, you beauty; they won't 
hurt } T our dear papa — not they,” passed 


THE ACCIDENT. 


45 


her hastily, and went out on to the rug- 
ged peat-field, regardless of exclamations 
from Nance, " that she would be falling into 
one of the cuttings and be drownded.” 

Poor little Effie ran away for a few hun- 
dred yards, and there, throwing herself 
against a low stack of peat, sobbed and 
cried as if her heart would break. The last 
crimson hues of day had long ago faded 
from the west, and the stars were shining 
down from the deep blue sky, where a 
crescent moon hung like a silver bow. 

It was a calm and beautiful spring night, 
and the glory of the heavens was reflected 
in the quiet, deep pools which crossed the 
peat-field at regular intervals. But Effie 
felt desolate and wretched alone there, — 
quite alone, — her father in terrible pain, 
and she unable to help him. 

It was little Effie’s very first personal ex- 


46 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


perience of the sorrows and roughnesses of 
life ; and as her tears exhausted themselves, 
and she sat rocking herself to and fro in her 
distress, she found it hard to believe she 
could be the same little girl who had set off 
so merrily that morning for a day’s excur- 
sion with her father — her dear father, now 
helpless — to take care of her — suffering, 
perhaps dying. 

"Oh, what shall I do? what shall I do?” 
she said aloud, and became aware, as she 
raised her head, that she was not alone. 
Crouching close to her, but scarcely daring 
to speak, was little Davie. Now, he gently 
touched Effie’s frock, and said "Don’t ’e 
take on so. I can’t bear to see you.” 

"Go away ; go away ! ” said Effie ; " little 
boy, I don’t want you.” 

Poor Davie felt this to be discouraging, 
but he still persisted. 



“Oh , what shall I do 1 what shall I do ! she said aloud . and became 
aware, as she raised her head, that she was not alone.’’ 


Peat Cutters 



% 













THE ACCIDENT. 


47 


"Do you mind throwing me a book a 
loug time ago ? I have looked out for you 
ever since, and I saw you this morning.” 

"Yes, I do remember now; you are a 
little peat-cutter, and I saw you in the cot- 
tage just now. Is that nasty old woman 
your mother? ” 

" My mother ! ” repeated Davie ; " what a 
go ! No ; Rob and I have no one in the 
world belonging to us, but we’d rather have 
nobody than old Nance Bligh.” 

" O papa, papa ! ” Effie broke out again ; 
"oh, I wonder if I may go back to him ; I 
wonder if they are hurting him much. 
Would you go and see? Please, will you? ” 

Davie needed no second bidding; his 
bare feet were soon scudding over the peat- 
field to the cottage. He returned presently 
with the information that the door was shut, 


48 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


and Rob was standing by it to hinder any 
one from going in. 

There was some one calling out, but it 
was not the gentleman. Effie clasped her 
small hands convulsively together, and tried 
to school herself into submission and 
patience. After a minute or two Davie 
began again : — 

" Robin and me heard a lark singing up 
in the sky this morning, — there aint no 
birds about here but larks, — and Robin 
said, * List to his song, Davie ; it seems to 
me that he has been up there to learn that 
God is love,’ and I said I felt it kind of 
hard to believe it ; but then I am not good, 
like Rob, — not good as you are, I dare say. 
I call Nance names, and I fight at Dick 
Smith, but I am a-going to try to feel down 
in my heart that it is true — that God is 
love.” 


THE ACCIDENT. 


49 


The familiar words repeated by the poor 
ignorant little peat-cutter seemed to bring 
balm to Effie’s sad heart. Softer and gen- 
tler tears came, and Davie saw her lips were 
moving, and heard the whisper of her child- 
ish prayer. 


4 


IV. 

|)ilp tomes to ®f£u. 

Another quarter of an hour had gone by, 
when a step was heard approaching, and the 
broad, athletic figure of the Eddington parish 
doctor was seen in the moonlight. Robin, 
from his position at the door of the cottage, 
had his eye upon the light speck which in- 
dicated the place where Efim's white hat 
stood out in relief against the dark-brown 
background of the peat-stack. He directed 
Mr. Barnes to it, and a few rapid strides 
brought the doctor to the child’s side. 

"My dear,” he began. "Come, be off,” 
— turning to Davie’s ragged figure, — " your 

50 


HELP COMES TO EFFIE. 


51 


room is more welcome than your company. 
These peat-cutters are a sad set ; that old 
woman has her mind set upon gain, and 
nothing else, — not a spark of humanity in 
her.” 

But Effie, springing to her feet with the 
eager question of " How is papa ? ” had 
time to say, "That is a good little boy, I 
think,” as Davie shuffled away at the first 
word of repulse. "He is not that old 
woman’s child ; but will you tell me how 
papa is, and take me back to him? ” 

" My dear,” said the doctor, again taking 
Effie’s hand in his, "your papa is quiet, and 
I hope easier. A telegram has been sent to 
Wells for your own doctor and nurse, and 
they will be here soon. Till then, your 
papa must be kept very quiet, and I propose 
taking you home with me , where you shall 
have a nice little bed in my little girl’s room, 


52 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


and then I will return to your papa and sit 
with him till the morning, or till Mr. Spen- 
ser arrives. ” 

"Oh, no, thank you,” Effie exclaimed; "I 
must go to papa ; I can wait upon him, 
and at any rate sit by him. Oh, no, I can’t, 
I can’t leave him ! ” 

Tears broke forth again, as Effie spoke. 

"My dear, my dear,” said the old doctor, 
tenderly, "you and I will watch together 
then, but you must mind not to let your 
father see you are agitated ; quiet is so es- 
sential for him. I am going to get the two 
poor fellows removed when their limbs are 
set, and taken to the Bridgewater Hospital 
as soon as morning dawns, I trust; but 
your father — ” 

"Is he more hurt than the poor men? 
What is the matter with papa ? ” 

" He has only one broken bone, my dear, 


HELP COMES TO EFFIE. 


53 


and the stoker has crushed both his legs, 
while the other man has a compound frac- 
ture of the arm. Dear me ! ” the good doc- 
tor broke off, " of all places in the world 
for a train to topple over, I should think the 
peat-field near Eddington the worst. One 
might as well be in the desert of Arabia as 
here. And I can’t make out how it hap- 
pened, for they always slacken the speed so 
much on either side of Eddington station.” 

At the cottage door she paused a minute, 
and covered her face with her hands ; then 
calmly and sedately little Effie went to her 
father’s side and took up her watch there. 

Mr. Gresley was either asleep or unable 
to open his eyes and speak. Effie needed 
no one to tell her that her father was seri- 
ously, perhaps dangerously, hurt now. His 
pale face was contracted with suffering, and 
his breathing was heavy and oppressed. 


54 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


Like a dark dream did those long hours 
seem before familiar faces came to little 
Effie. Old Nance Bligh moved about, 
crooning in a disagreeable way, and Effie 
shrunk more and more from her. The doc- 
tor left the cottage occasionally to look after 
other sufferers who were dispersed amongst 
the peat-cutters’ dwellings, and returned to 
his post by Mr. Gresley to feel his pulse, 
hold something in a spoon to his lips, and 
then stroke Effie’s golden hair as she sat on a 
little wooden stool, her eyes fixed on her 
father, all expression of her childlike grief 
and distress hushed for his sake. 

In the shed adjoining lay the stoker and 
his fellow-sufferer, and crouched at the door 
was seen Davie’s little ragged figure, hoping 
to escape old Nance’s observation, and 
scarcely daring to breathe or move. The 
night wind sighed over the peat-field, and 


HELP COMES TO EFFIE. 


55 


the tall poplars whispered like the sound of 
falling showers, while the stars looked down 
with a calm, quiet radiance ; and Robin, 
waiting at the station for the Wells doctor, 
as he looked up at them, thought it was as 
Davie said, "Heaven seemed very far off.” 
Mr. Spenser had been telegraphed for from 
Wells; but it was not till nearly two o’clock 
that he reached Eddington station, and was 
guided by Robin to old Nance’s cottage. A 
tall, elderly woman was with him, who 
asked many hurried questions. 

"How was her child, — her little Miss 
Effie ? who was with her ? and how did she 
bear it?” 

Robin answered as well as he could, but 
Mr. Spenser uttered not a word. He 
walked quietly onwards, only stopping once 
to say : — 

"Nurse, you will remember that we may 


56 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


find Mr. Gresley very ill, and be careful not 
to excite Miss Effie.” 

Poor nurse’s feelings were rather hurt. 

"I excite Miss Effie, Mr. Spenser ! You 
must know me too well to think I should 
do that, poor lamb — dear lamb ! ” and 
nurse relapsed into silence. 

When the cottage door opened, Effie 
sprang to Mr. Spenser. " O Mr. Spenser ! 
O nurse, nurse ! ” and the poor child was 
caught in nurse’s outstretched arms, sobbing 
convulsively. A short conversation between 
Mr. Spenser and the Eddington doctor 
followed, and then Mr. Spenser said: — 
"You will go with nurse, my dear child, 
while I attend to your papa.” 

" Oh, don’t send me away, — I will be 
so quiet ! oh, don’t send me away ! ” 

" She will have an illness,” said the*Ed- 
dington doctor, " if we don’t look out. She 


HELP COMES TO EFFIE. 


57 


has behaved beautifully, wonderfully, but 
she is overwrought.” 

" Yes,” said Mr. Spenser, " Effie will do as 
I wish, I know. Will you let nurse take 
you to the waiting-room at the station, and 
I will come and tell you how your papa is, 
as soon as I can, and take you home, while 
I leave nurse here ? ” 

"Why does not papa speak to me? Is he 
asleep ? ” Effie gasped. 

" He is ill, dear Effie ; he has had a seri- 
ous blow on the head, we think. Please 
God, he will revive soon and know you. 
You had better go now;” for Mr. Gresley 
opened his eyes, and they dwelt upon his 
little girl with that strange, unknowing 
look so grievous and so sad. 

Effie gazed at him with an almost heart- 
broken expression on her face, and let nurse 
lead her gently away. Out once more into 


58 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


the peat- field, out once more beneath the 
dark blue sky, and closely following her 
steps, was Davie, while Robin showed 
nurse the way to the station. Here, in the 
waiting-room, a bed was made for the child 
on two chairs, with a heap of rugs and 
wraps, and here, at nurse’s entreaty, she 
lay down to rest. 

"Nurse,” she whispered, "nurse, don’t 
be cross to that little boy ; let him stay 
with me, and, oh, do go back to papa ! 
Little boy,” she said, "don’t be afraid,” as 
Davie was looking with fear at the porter, 
and expecting his order to move off. 
" Little boy, you shall stay here, and we 
will pray for papa. Tell the porter, nurse, 
please, not to turn those little boys out,” 
she pleaded ; " and, nurse, read to me ; there 
is a Bible — do read.” 

But poor nurse’s self-possession failed 


HELP COMES TO EFFIE. 


59 


her, and she could only say, " Go to sleep, 
my precious — try to go to sleep.” 

"Very well,” said Effie, "and I will say 
my psalm to myself. I said it to papa this 
morning when we set off. He said it was 
a good word for a journey ; ” and Effie re- 
peated, slowly and distinctly : — 

" ' I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, 
from whence cometh my help. My help 
cometh from the Lord, which made heaven 
and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to 
he moved : he that keepeth thee will not 
slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel 
shall neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord 
is thy keeper : the Lord is thy shade upon 
thy right hand. The sun shall not smite 
thee by day, nor the moon by night. The 
Lord shall preserve thee from all evil : he 
shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall 
preserve thy going out and thy coming in 


60 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS 


from this time forth, and even for ever- 
more.’ ” 

The child’s voice failed a little as she 
ended, and tears were raining from Davie’s 
eyes as he listened, while the porter turned 
away, saying, "Well, that’s a wonderful 
child. Yes, you may bide where you are,” 
he added to Davie, "as she asked it; but 
mind you aint up to no pranks, or it will 
be the worse for you.” 

As soon as the child’s breathing told 
nurse that she was asleep, she rose softly, 
and, signing to Robin, who stood at the 
door, afraid to venture as near Effie as 
David did, "Look here,” nurse said to him, 
" I feel as if I must go yonder and see how 
it is with my master. Will you watch her, 
and, if she wakes, come for me?” 

"Yes, but I must show you the way 
first,” was Robin’s rejoinder, " or you’ll be 


HELP COMES TO EFFIE. 


61 


putting your foot into a dyke, ma’am. I’ll 
be back in no time ; ” and nurse, feeling an 
instinctive trust in Robin, in spite of his 
ragged exterior, did as he suggested, and 
followed him to Nance Bligh’s cottage. 

Effie, forgetting her grief in the sleep of 
childhood, — little Davie, his large eyes wide 
open, watching every breath with intent 
earnestness, were thus left together. The 
porter looked in every now and then, but 
he had much to attend to, and Robin did not 
return for some time. 

So were they brought into near associa- 
tion, — the tenderly-nurtured child, on 
whom no rough wind had been allowed 
hitherto to blow, and the little uncared-for 
and neglected peat-cutter, — children of one 
Father, whose eye was on them both, and 
who sent sweet dreams to the sleeper. 
Once she turned quickly, and said, "Papa, 


62 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


— papa ! ” and then Davie heard her mur- 
mur, " It is the song of love, — God is love. 
Poor little boy ! — poor , poor little boy ! 
God is love.” 

The same message, — the same story. 
The little peat-cutter’s heart drank in the 
words, and said, " It’s kind of hard to be- 
lieve, but it is true, — I know it is, — God 
is love.” 


Y. 


!pft in % flfiii-ficlij. 

"It seems strange, doesn’t it, Kobin, 
that we never hear no more of the little 
lady ? ” 

" I don’t know what you expect to hear, 
Davie,” was Kobin’s answer ; " the doctor 
gave us a handsome present.” 

" And old Nance has boned it,” said Davie, 
with a curious smile ; " shouldn’t I like to see 
her in a railway accident ; and — 

" Hush, Davie,” said the elder brother, 
authoritatively ; " you aint to talk like that. 
He said , ^ Love your enemies.’ He was 
never anything but loving, — no, not even 

63 


64 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


when they treated him so shamefully, and 
mocked him, and struck him.” 

" I say, Rob,” said little Davie, after a 
pause, during which he had been scanning 
his brother’s face, as he lay stretched out on 
a bank of turf, his hands folded behind his 
head for a pillow, — "I say, Rob, you have 
got that pain in your chest to-night. I know 
you have, Rob ; let us cut it, and go to 
Wells. The good gentleman is there, and 
the porter on the railway told me he knew 
he was better. Let us go and find him out ; 
you aint well, and I am sure that kind doc- 
tor would give you some physic.” 

" I don’t want no physic, Davie,” said 
Robin, lying quite still, and looking up into 
the sky, where Venus shone in her fullest 
beauty ; " I have a reason for keeping clear 
of towns, especially of Wells. I have been 
there before, you know, and so have you.” 


LIFE IN THE PEAT-FIELD. 


65 


" I don’t remember nothing about it,” said 
little Davie. 

"No, and I am glad you don’t,” said 
Robin, suddenly sitting upright. "Look 
here, Davie ; you must never put yourself 
in the way of meeting Browne when — 
when — ” 

" When what, Rob? What do you 
mean ? ” 

"I mean,” said Robin, with an effort, " it 
might so happen that you were left alone.” 

" That couldn’t happen,” said little Davie ; 
" because I am sure you would never leave 
me, and I would not leave you for all the 
world, — no, not to be rich to-morrow — 
rich like the sweet little lady and the gentle- 
man.” 

' " Poor Davie ! ” said Rob, suddenly ; " you 

are so like mother ; anybody who ever had 
seen mother would know you was her boy ; 


5 


66 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


but you must promise me, Davie, you will 
keep clear of wicked people that don’t love 
God, and live with no thought of the next 
world.” 

"But, Rob, you'll take care of me,” Davie 
persisted ; " I shan’t come to no harm with 
you.” 

"Ah, Davie, but I might have to leave 
you, — I might have to die, Davie.” 

"To die,” the child said, stopping his 
little arm, which was raised to throw a stone 
into one of the dykes, to disturb its glassy 
surface for a few moments, as it fell to the 
bottom with a dull splash. "To die, Rob ; 
you won’t die, — you can’t, I mean ; ” and 
the child stood motionless, with parched 
lips and grief-struck eyes, gazing at his 
brother. 

Robin put his arm round Davie, and said, 
tenderly : — 


LIFE IN THE PEAT-FIELD. 


67 


" It is all in God’s hands, Davie, you 
know ; he is the God of love. Look here,” 
he said, his dark eyes kindling, "here’s a 
treasure I picked up amongst the rubbish 
after the accident.” 

" That little brown book,” said Davie ; " it 
is not so pretty as the one the little lady 
gave you.” 

" Oh, but Davie,” said Robin, stroking 
the little shabby volume tenderly ; " the 
words in the little book were only crumbs 
from this. I have been hard at work these 
long days and short nights learning to read, 
and I get on wonderful considering. It all 
seems to come back, — it isn’t so hard ; you 
must try to learn too, Davie.” 

"I don’t believe I could ever read that 
book,” said Davie, "though I can manage 
the short tex ties in the little lady’s. I know 
that about the lambs, don’t I? ” 


68 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


"Yes; and if you’ll sit down I’ll read 
you a chapter in this dear old brown book, 
which is the New Testament. There is 
nobody’s name on it, so I can’t find out the 
owner to give it back to him, and I dare say 
he would be glad I should have it, for I 
haven’t got much,” added Rob, with a sigh ; 
"but we’ll try to get to church again to- 
morrow, Davie. Sunday is a day of rest and 
that’s one comfort ; old Nance nor nobody 
else can take it away. So we’ll go to church 
to-morrow, — not that one out there, but the 
pretty new one where all the gentry was 
going in the train the other day to see it 
opened. We’ll go there, Davie. Now listen, 
and I’ll read.” 

Davie came very close to his brother, and 
lay down by his side ; while Robin, leaning 
on his elbow, smoothed the leaves of the 


LIFE IN THT PEAT-FIELD. 


69 


precious book with his work-worn hands, 
and began. 

" I can’t make it all out, Davie,” he said, 
— " the hard words ; and perhaps we 
shouldn’t understand them if I could ; but 
you hark to this ; ” and he read slowly and 
with some difficulty : — 

" ' And God himself shall be with them ? 
and be their God. And God shall wipe 
away all tears from their eyes ; and there 
shall be no more death, neither sorrow, 
nor crying, neither shall there be any more 
pain ; for the former things are passed 
away.’ ” 

Robin stopped, and Davie said : — 

" Where, Rob? where will that be?” and 
Robin, guiding his brown finger down the 
page, already bearing marks of frequent 
handling of the same kind, stopped at the 
verse after the hard words which puzzled 


70 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


him, and said, " Here, Davie, now listen 
again. 

" 'And the street of the city was pure gold, 
as it were transparent glass. And I saw no 
temple therein ; for the Lord God Almighty 
and the Lamb are the temple of it. And 
the city had no need of the sun, neither of 
the moon, to shine in it ; for the glory of 
God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the 
light thereof.’ ” 

" I don’t read it well,” the child said ; " I 
find it very hard ; but listen once more, 
Davie, — this is what I am coming to : — 

" 'There shall in no wise enter into it any- 
thing that defileth, neither whatsoever work- 
eth abomination, or maketh a lie ; but they 
which are written in the Lamb’s Book of 
Life.’” 

"I don’t understand it, Rob, — do you ? ” 

"Well,” said Rob, doubtfully, "Ido, and 


LIFE IN THE PEAT-FIELD. 


71 


I don’t. I feel it means nothing wicked or 
filthy can go into heaven, and I know the 
Lamb of God is Jesus. I know that, Davie, 
and I know he can make us clean, Davie ; 
we want to be made clean and to be for- 
given, don’t we?” 

Davie made a faint response, but his 
little mind was soon diverted by the sight 
of a bright-eyed water-rat, which he thought 
he saw darting about amongst the sedges 
which fringed one of the dykes. 

Soon he made off to give it chase, and the 
elder brother was left alone ; he lay flat on 
his back gazing up into the sky where many 
stars were peeping forth as the daylight 
faded from the west. 

" Where is it ? ” the boy questioned, " and 
shall I ever get there ? Perhaps the golden 
streets are up there where that beautiful star 
is ; who knows ? and Jesus, the Lamb of 


72 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


God, is the light of it. Oh ! I hope he will 
teach me to find him, — to feel him near me 
when I die, and that can’t be long unless 
the warm weather cures me. I rather wish 
it would make me well, for Davie’s sake. 
I’d like to live to see him safe away from 
old Nance ; and, besides, I think I should 
be frightened when the end came, like that 
poor man who died the other day in one of 
the cottages. But then he did not know 
His Name, and the little red book told me 
what it means : Save us from our sins . 
Ah, that is it.” 

Poor little peat-cutter — poor, desolate 
child — struggling to find Him whom, having 
not seen, he began to love ! Yes, he would 
hear the voice of Jesus say, "Come to me 
in all thy ignorance and all thy weakness ; 
come and lay thy sins upon me and find 
rest.” 


LIFE IN THE PEAT-FIELD. 


73 


Children who live in happy homes, — 
children who breathe an atmosphere of love 
and peace, — children whose infant lips are 
taught to lisp the name of Jesus, and sing 
his praises, — be thankful for your mercies, 
and pray for those, like the peat-cutter, 
who are striving hard to learn the lessons 
of faith, and to sing the song of love amidst 
the clouds of ignorance, and the harsh and 
discordant tones of bad and angry words 
which ring in their ears in their hard and 
rugged daily life. 

Robin and Davie came to Nance Bligh’s 
cottage when the daylight was quite gone. 
They found the old woman sitting over some 
hot spirits and water, and a good supper of 
cabbage and bacon. She beg£n to mutter 
and grumble when the two boys came in, 
and, tearing the remnant of a loaf in two 
pieces with her uncleanly hands, she pushed 


74 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


it towards them, on a cracked plate, with a 
little heap of lard in the one corner of it. 
Eobin shuddered and turned away; he 
said he wasn’t hungry ; and breaking off a 
bit of the bread, he helped himself to some 
water from a jug with no handle, and told 
Davie to make haste and eat his supper and 
then come to bed. Davie was healthy and 
hungry, and the bread and its greasy accom- 
paniment soon disappeared, and Eobin 
watched him with a sad face. Presently he 
said : — 

"If you please,” Mrs. Bligh, "will }mu 
give me back a shilling or two of our wages 
this evening? I want them.” 

" A shilling or two ! ” Nance shrieked ; 
"and what’ll lie left to pay for your board 
and lodgings, I should like to know? Two 
great growing boys, eating me out of house 


LIFE IN THE PEAT-FIELD. 


75 


and home, and then to ask for a shilling or 
two. A pretty thing. Hold your tongue ! ” 

"Look here, Mrs. Bligh,” said Robin, 
firmly; "I think, with what you got from 
the good gentleman for us, as well as your- 
self, you can spare more than a shilling or 
two ; and, if you don’t, I shall look out for 
other quarters, and leave you once and for 
all.” 

There was something in the child’s dark 
eye which seemed to make old Nance fear 
he would really carry out the threat, which 
would not have suited her at all. 

Mumbling and muttering, she pulled a 
dirty leather bag out of her pocket, and 
drawing out two shillings and a fourpenny 
bit, she tossed them to Robin, saying, "Not 
a penny more, you young rascal ! not a 
penny more ; you’ll spend it on no good, 
I’ll be bound. Ofi* somewhere to be up to 


76 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


a lark on Sunday. I am ashamed of you, 
that I be.” 

Robin took the money without another 
word, and while old Nance sat dozing over 
her repeated potations of gin and water, the 
little brothers lay calm and quiet on their 
straw bed, — one sleeping tranquilly and 
sweetly, the other lying awake, but fearing 
by restlessness to wake Davie, and forcing 
himself to be still. He wondered why he 
had such dreadful fits of perspiration, which, 
passing off every night, left him weak and 
chilly ; and then, when he would have slept, 
came a tickling like a straw in his throat, 
which kept him coughing till the sun had 
risen to wake the beauty of the April morn- 
ing. Then he slept for a little time, to be 
roused by Davie with the words, " It is 
Sunday, Rob, it is Sunday. You said you 
would go to the church to-day, to the new 


LIFE IN THE PEAT-FIELD. 


77 


church with the pretty spire. Don’t you 
remember?” And Robin, rousing, dragged 
himself wearily from his bed, and smiling 
at his brother said, "Yes, Davie; yes, I’ll 

ti 


come. 


VI. 

Smtimg jEcsi- 

Sweet was the calm of the early morning 
when the two little boys came out of Nance 
Bligh’s cottage on to the peat-field. No one 
was stirring in the whole district, and the 
wild bees and the larks had it all to them- 
selves. April had nearly passed into May, 
and the season was unusually warm for the 
time of the year. 

" Stop a bit, Davie,” said Robin, as they 
got to their favorite place by the embank- 
ment ; " it is Sunday, and we must give our- 
selves an extra wash ; we aint much of it to 


78 


SUNDAY REST. 


79 


go into church as it is, but we’ll try to be 
clean for once.” 

The cold, fresh water of the dyke close at 
hand was made the most of, — a little soap 
would have been an improvement, but soap 
was unattainable. 

The two children scrubbed their faces, 
and necks, and hands, and not only that, 
but tried to rub out the stains from their 
trowsers and jackets, and then hung them 
on some low bushes to dry. Davie delight- 
ed in the cold water, but Robin soon shrank 
from it and was shivering long after his 
brother was in a glow with healthy circula- 
tion. 

"I say, Rob, we must get our hairs dry ; 
mine is all like a wet mop. I must shake 
it, and twist round till it is dry.” And 
Davie cut a variety of capers, and shook his 
head so vehemently, and looked so funny 


80 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


and merry, that poor Bobin laughed. He 
did not often laugh now, and Davie stopped, 
and said : — 

"I like to hear you laugh, Bob. Aint it 
nice to be free for a day, and to do what one 
likes ; and not to see that nasty, ugly, hor- 
rid old Nance?’’ 

"Davie, I wish you would leave Nance 
Bligh alone ; what’s the good of always 
being at her? Now, look here, we must say 
our prayers, and then we’ll cut across by 
that path to yonder village, and perhaps 
we’ll have a nice breakfast for once. I am 
so rich to-day, two shillings and a fourpen- 
ny bit ; not that I mean to spend it all, for 
it will be a long time before I get as much 
out of Nance Bligh again. I wish I could 
buy something more decent, just for Sun- 
days, for Sunday is God’s day. Hark ! 
there’s the lark again, Davie. I could al- 


SUNDAY REST. 


81 


most be sure it is si ways the same one ; it’s 
the song of love it sings ; and it seems a 
better one than usual, because it is Sunday 
morning.” 

"Rob,” said Davie, suddenly, "was you 
ever naughty?” 

"Me naughty?” repeated Robin, sadly. 
"Ah, Davie, boy, you don’t know me, or 
you would not ask that. It is a hard fight 
of it I have sometimes, but it has been a 
deal easier of late ; perhaps,” — and this he 
said more to himself than to his brother, — 
"perhaps, because it aint going to last 
long.” 

He knelt and said his simple morning 
prayer, and then, when the blue smoke was 
beginning to curl from the chimneys of the 
village, he and Davie walked towards it. 
There were not many people stirring, even 
then ; and Robin passed one woman at the 


6 


82 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


door of a small farm-house, not daring to 
ask for his breakfast. He returned, how- 
ever, holding his brother’s hand, and leaned 
against the gate, watching her as she threw 
handfuls of barley-meal to a troop of hens 
and chickens, and two lordly cocks, which 
showed no politeness to their wives, but 
snapped at and pounced upon every possi- 
ble morsel. Then out into the sunlight 
came the golden head of a child of three 
year&mld, — a pretty, winsome little maid- 
en, whom her mother called Hessie. 

" Hessie mustn’t frighten the young 
chicks,” her mother said, and then the child 
came toddling down the door-steps, along 
the strip of garden, to the gate, and, call- 
ing to her mother, said, "Here’s two boys, 
mother.” 

The mother had been so engrossed in 
counting her three broods of chickens, as 


SUNDAY REST. 


83 


she fed them, that she had not noticed Robin 
and Davie. Now she paused, with a handful 
of barley ready raised to throw to the 
chickens, and said, in a loud but not unkind 
tone : — 

" What do you want, boys ? — giving me a 
turn like that with standing staring at me. 
Come away, Hessie, my dear ; there’s a dar- 
ling ! ” 

Oh, the power of loving words to deso- 
late hearts, even when they are spoj|gn for 
others ! Robin felt at that moment, how 
nice it must be to have a home, with a 
mother and a pleasant place like the lit- 
tle farm-house, covered with creeping 
plants, and a little garden gay with spring 
flowers ! 

"Please, ma’am,” said Robin, "my broth- 
er and me are very hungry, and would be 
glad of some breakfast, if you’ll be so kind 


84 


THE LITTLE PE AT-CUTTEE3 . 


as to give us some ; I cau pay you ; ” and 
Robin drew out one of his shillings, and 
offered it to her, with his long, thin hand, 
over the gate. 

" Money on Sunday ! no, indeed ; I never 
change a coin on that day,” the woman said, 
again looking at the children with a keen 
scrutiny ; " but who are you, and where do 
you come from, pray?” 

" We work in the peat-held,” said Robin, 
— " Davie and I ; and we are walking to the 
new church for a Sunday treat. The old 
woman where we lodge was asleep when we 
came away, and we had no breakfast, and 
are hungry.” 

"And where’s your father and mother, 
then, to let you two children be roaming 
about in this way? Dear, dear, how ragged 
and dirty your clothes are, but not your 
faces, — I must say that for you.” 


SUNDAY REST. 


85 


" Have they got no best things for Sun- 
day ? ” asked little Hessie. " / have ; I have 
a blue frock, and a white hat, and — ” 

"Hush, my darling!” said her mother; 
" and now, you boys, come in, and sit you 
down, and you shall have your breakfast 
with pleasure. Where is your mother?” 

"Mother and father are both dead. We 
have no one in the world to care for us, Rob 
and I.” 

This time it was Davie who spoke, and 
the honest, motherly heart was touched. 

"Poor things! poor things!” she ex- 
claimed, " God help you ! Now come in and 
sit down ; you are not well,” she continued, 
turning to Rob, "and you are as thin as a 
rod.” 

Very soon a nice basin of bread-and- 
milk was set before the children, and Davie 
despatched his with the eagerness of a fam- 


86 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


ished dog. Robin played with his spoon, 
and only drank a little of the milk, and, un- 
able to eat his portion, he gave the basin to 
Davie. 

"Come, this won’t do,” said the kind 
woman ; "you must have something ; ” and 
she laid her hand almost tenderly on Robin’s 
head, as he said, "I fancy I am hungry, 
ma’am, till I see the food, and then I takes 
against it somehow.” 

"You are ill, child, and you ought to see 
a doctor, poor boy ! Well, I’ll make you 
something else, — see if I don’t.” 

And, before long, a cup of fragrant tea, 
and a bit of dry toast were set before 
Robin. He thought he had never tasted 
anything so nice, and tears were in his eyes 
when he thanked the kind woman. 

"Will you have it, please, ma’am?” 
Robin said, again offering the shilling. 


SUNDAY REST. 


87 


"Have it? no, indeed; and if you come 
back this way in the evening, you’ll be 
kindly welcome to your supper. I wish I 
could do more for you, — poor motherless 
boys ! — that I do.” 

Then the little peat-cutters pursued their 
way, refreshed and comforted by the kind 
words, no less than by their breakfasts. 
Little golden-haired Hessie stood by the 
gate watching them as they went down the 
village, and, when they had disappeared, said, 
as she ran back to the cottage-door, holding 
to the corner of her mother’s apron : — 

** Poor boys ! poor boys ! they have got no 
best things for Sunday, like Hessie has — 
poor, poor boys ! ” 

The church which the children were so 
eager to reach had only been lately built, 
and was on that account an object of interest 
to the immediate neighborhood. So it was 


88 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


that on this, the second Sunday on which 
the bells had called the people to prayer and 
praise, there were many drawn to it as 
something new , and consequently something 
attractive. 

Robin and Davie held back, afraid to en- 
ter till the service had begun, every one 
looked so grand in their eyes. Even the 
Sunday-school children seemed so superior 
to them. At last they crept in at a side- 
door, and sat down on a wooden bench near 
the pulpit. The hymns were sung, but 
Robin and Davie did not know the words, 
and so they were lost to them. The little 
boys were both tired with their walk, and 
Davie was in vain exhorted by Robin to 
keep awake. The child’s head, however, 
drooped lower and lower, and at last, seeing 
the case hopeless, Robin made his shoulder 
a support for his little brother, and let him 


SUNDAY REST. 


89 


sleep. The children were in a very retired 
corner of the church. Few eyes saw them, 
fewer noticed them, and those people who 
looked at them for a moment had only a 
passing thought that such dirty, ragged 
children ought not to be there at all. The 
service went on, and the sermon began. 

"I shan’t understand that,” Rob thought; 
"I never do rightly understand sermons;” 
and he was beginning to think of moving 
quietly away with Davie, when, on looking 
up, he saw that another clergymen was 
beginning to preach. It was not long be- 
fore Rob was listening to what he said, as if 
he were the only person in the church to 
whom the preacher was speaking. " Greater 
love hath no man than this, that a man lay 
down his life for his friends. Ye are my 
friends if ye do whatsoever I command 
you.” Oh, the power of that man who is 


90 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


thoroughly in earnest as he tells of that 
which is to himself a great reality, the one 
thing which is needful, — soul speaking to 
soul of the One who can cheer, and comfort, 
and save ! Thus it was that the preacher 
spoke of the love of Jesus ; thus it was 
he spoke of the infinite love which calls us 
to his bosom as his friends, the friends for 
whom he laid down his life. Greater love ! 
no, there w r as no greater love than his, 
and to one little thirsting, longing soul the 
'message of the preacher came with power. 
As he listened, and as he looked up into the 
beautiful face where the love of which he 
spoke seemed to glow and burn with an in- 
tensity hard to describe, Robin’s dark eyes 
filled with tears which coursed each other 
down his face, — the pale, thin face where 
the traces of illness were visible ; and the 
preacher saw him, and thought that after the 


SUNDAY REST. 


91 


service was over he would seek out those 
two ragged children and tell them more o 
Jesus. But his kind intentions were frus- 
trated. Before the organ had ceased, 
Robin and Davie had crept away as fast as 
they could go, and, anxious to hide from all 
the grand people, had turned into a little 
wood close to the church, where they sat 
down amongst the spring flowers till the 
congregation had dispersed. 

The clergyman was a stranger in the 
neighborhood, staying at a watering-place 
near for his health for a few days, and had 
been asked by the vicar of the new church 
to preach for him. So he passed on his way, 
and the little peat-cutters saw him no more. 
But the words he had spoken, and the ear- 
nest breathing forth of the sweetness and 
preciousness of Jesus’ love, had not been in 
vain. One day, perhaps, the little sick and 


92 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


weary pilgrim, no longer sick or weary, 
may meet him who had brought him such 
comfort, and had told him in such deep-felt 
words the old story of the love of Jesus. 
One day they may meet and sing together 
the song of love in the city where the 
streets are gold, and nothing entereth in to 
defile. Who can tell ? 

The children had their dinner of bread 
and cheese on the door-step of a little 
country inn, and Robin, with his old, brown 
book, and Davie amongst the flowers, spent 
a very happy Sunday. 

They went to church again in the evening, 
but this time there was no message for little, 
simple, unlearned souls. The sermon was 
quite above the understanding of Robin, 
and Davie grew fidgety, and wanted to go. 
As the boys wended their way towards the 
peat-field — I had almost written, home - 

i 


SUNDAY REST. 


93 


wards — they missed the turning which 
would have led them past the kind woman’s 
house, where little Hessie slept in her small 
bed near her mother’s, and murmured in her 
sleep something about the two poor boys 
who were so hungry. Robin could scarcely 
drag his feet over the last mile or two, and 
had often to sit down and rest ; but he felt 
so happy, and carried about with him the 
memory of the clergyman’s face, and 
seemed to hear his voice as he said, as if it 
were to him, Robin Malton, "Ye are my 
friends; come to me, and I will give you 
rest.” Ah, such rest ! and the rest which 
Jesus gives is sweet. 


yii. 


gram of Ptaimr. 

It pleased God to spare Mr. Gresley’s 
life, but he lay for many weeks on the bor- 
der land, and for many more on his couch, 
unable to take any exercise, sometimes un- 
able to bear even the sound of his little 
girl’s voice, who was changed from the play- 
ful, merry child, who had looked down 
from the railway carriage on the peat-cut- 
ters, to a thoughtful, sober maiden, her 
father’s nurse and comforter, and patient, 
gentle attendant. 

When Effie awoke from that long sleep in 
the waiting-room of the Eddington Station 


94 


A DREAM OF HEAVEN. 


95 


she found herself in a carriage with nurse 
on the road to Wells. Her father was re- 
moved home in the course of the same day, 
but many days passed before Effie was al- 
lowed to see him again. Then came, as I 
have said, a long period of illness and par- 
tial recovery, but the glorious days of a 
most unusual summer found Mr. Gresley 
lying on the sofa in his own room, the win- 
dows of which looked out on the cathedral 
green ; and from which, through the grace- 
ful lime-trees, now waving the incense of 
their sweet perfume in the morning breeze, 
the " big church ” of which little Davie Mal- 
ton spoke could be seen standing gray and 
solemn amidst the universal greenness and 
freshness of midsummer. 

It was scarcely past dawn, and the morn- 
ing sun cast long shadows across the lawn in 
front of the cathedral. No one was stirring 


96 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


in the quiet old city. Even the jackdaws 
had only just begun a subdued chatter, and 
the rocks in the elm-trees by the palace 
moat gave a single caw now r and then, just 
as a reminder of what they would do later. 

Round about the little city the Mendips 
stood as protectors, and the lovely fields and 
gardens which encircle the cathedral itself, 
and waft their sweetness to its very doors, 
lay calm and still in the light of early day. 
Not a dew-drop had yet been shaken from 
the roses or clematis by the wing of bird or 
nestling, and, as the clock chimed four from 
the great belfry tower, the sound seemed 
twice as loud as in the " busy concourse of 
the day.” Not that there was ever much 
noise in Wells; as yet no railway reached 
it, but stopped short at Glastonbury, within 
five miles of the city of waters. The tink- 
ling of its many-voiced springs could be 


A DREAM OF HEAVEN. 


97 


heard at noon-day, almost in its busiest 
street. 

The roo'ks cawed and the jackdaws chat- 
tered, and their voices were seldom wholly 
lost, even in the Market Square, when buy- 
ers and sellers came from the neighboring 
villages ; and now, in the stillness of this 
June morning, when the sun was only just 
above the horizon, all was quiet and peace. 

"Come, Rob, come,” said a little voice 
we have heard before ; " it can’t be much fur- 
ther now. Hold up, Rob;” for Robin had 
sunk down on the steps of a house in Cham- 
berlain Street, utterly exhausted. 

"Oh, pray, please Rob,” said little Davie, 
in an agony of distress ; " try to come a lit- 
tle bit further. They live close to the cathe- 
dral, the little girl said so.” 

" They don’t care about us,” said Robin, 
faintly; "why should they?” 

7 


98 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTEKS. 


"Well, I know they’ll be kind if we can 
only find them,” said poor Davie; "they’ll 
give us an odd job, Robin ; you said you 
thought so.” 

Poor Robin was faint and giddy with ex- 
haustion. For some weeks past he had felt 
illness creeping over him, and it was on that 
account, and the fear that he might die and 
leave his little brother to the tender mercies 
of Nance Bligh, which had decided him two 
days ago to make off from the peat-field and 
walk to Wells with Davie. 

Since the morning after the railway acci- 
dent the little peat-cutters had, as we have 
seen, heard no more of Mr. Gresley and 
Effie. They had seen them both taken 
away, and had watched the clearance of the 
debris of the carriages from the place where 
the engine had imbedded itself ; and, in a 
few days, all had been restored to order. 


A DREAM OF HEAVEN. 


99 


The trains passed at regular intervals, the 
whistle sounded, the signals at Eddington 
Station were raised, and the remembrance 
of the accident began to fade away. The 
little peat-cutters worked, and old Nance 
took the children’s earnings and pretended 
to feed them out of them. But she spent 
the money on drink ; aud scanty fare, and 
dirt and misery, coupled with hard blows 
and harder names, had told upon both the 
boys. Robin, more especially, had failed 
in energy and spirit; and, in making this 
effort to get to Wells, he had exhausted his 
little stock of strength. He had only been 
able to get on by slow degrees, and had but 
a few pence in his pocket, and the two pre- 
cious and well-worn books. The brothers 
had slept in a barn a mile out of Wells on 
the previous night; and, as the day broke, 
had pushed on till they reached the old city. 


100 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

But now they had reached it, they were 
doubtful what they should do, — ragged, and 
forlorn, and dirty. If a policeman saw 
them he would take them to the station- 
house as tramps and vagrants. But police- 
men were not either numerous or very much 
on the alert in Wells in those days ; and 
as yet the children were unseen and unno- 
ticed. 

The earnestness of Davie’s repeated ap- 
peals roused Robin at last to make another 
effort. He staggered to his feet, and, lean- 
ing on his little brother’s shoulder, went up 
the quiet street. At the top the boys 
paused, but Robin murmured, "I have been 
here before ; this is the way to the cathedral, 
I think and turning to the right, the road 
led past an old gateway, through which they 
could see the broad lawn stretched before 
the cathedral ; and, passing under it, the 


A DREAM OF HEAVEN. 


101 


children found themselves on the smooth 
sward, which was cool and soft to their 
aching feet ; and where, under the shadow 
of a row of lime-trees, they sank down, 
Robin neither moving nor speaking, and lit- 
tle Davie only feeling that it was better here 
than with old Nance; that it was a deal 
more beautiful than the peat-field ; and 
strong in his childish faith, that the little 
girl would see them, and remember them, 
and help them. 

Robin may as well sleep,” he thought; 
" he will be rested then, and we are out of 
everybody’s way here. When the shops 
are opened, Til go and buy a loaf ; there’s 
some money in Robin’s pocket, and he is 
very hungry, I know. I am sure I be.” 
And then Davie stretched himself out on 
the grass, and looked up at the grand old 
west front of the cathedral, where the jack- 


102 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

daws began to sail in and out, and grew 
louder in their conversation every minute. 
A few snowy clouds flecked the blue sky, 
and floated like white ships over the giant 
towers. The daisies opened their golden 
eyes to the light, and the early bees began 
to hum on busy wing in the branches of the 
limes over the children’s heads. There 
were houses on each side of the cathedral 
green ; but as yet the blinds were all down, 
and the sleepers had not awakened. 

As Davie lay speculating as to whether 
the little lady lived in any house that he 
could then see, and, if she did, whether 
they should find her out, he, too, fell asleep. 
But his dreams were happy ones, such as 
often come to the weary and oppressed as a 
compensation, so to speak, for the stern and 
hard realities of their waking hours. Davie 
dreamed that he was still looking at the 


A DREAM OF HEAVEN. 


103 


" big church,” but that it suddenly changed 
into a temple all shining like gold, and the 
white clouds came down and rested on the 
pinnacle ; and, as they did so, he saw they 
were no longer clouds, but white-robed 
angels. Then the hum of the bees in the 
lime-trees was changed to singing, — the 
singing of the angels, — and the song was 
all of love and praise ; and Davie dreamed 
that he wanted to sing too. But his voice 
was weak and faint, and he tried to raise 
it in vain. And then a dark cloud seemed 
to shadow him, and, instead of the song of 
love, his lips were uttering bad words ; and 
he was angry with old Nance and with Dick 
Smith. And then he dreamed he struggled 
hard, very hard to stop, and asked for help, 
— help to sing the pretty song, and to be 
made fit to go into the beautiful church; 
and to be made pure, and white, and clean, 


104 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

even as the angels were. And, as he 
prayed, he seemed to feel the dark shadow 
pass away ; and from out of the white 
clouds, and from out of the company of the 
angels there came a bird, nearer and nearer 
to him, just as the larks used to come down 
on the peat-field. And at first he thought 
that this bird was a lark ; but, as it drew 
nearer and nearer, Davie saw its wings 
were like silver, burnished silver, and 
shining in the sun, so that Davie’s eyes 
were dazzled. But he put out his hand to 
take it, wondering that anything so beauti- 
ful should come to him ; and, as he did so, 
the bird brooded softly over him, and he 
felt it nestle in his breast ; and a great gush 
of joy burst forth, and he started up, say- 
ing, " I can sing it now, the song of love. 
Rob, Rob, aren’t you glad?” 

But when Davie really opened his eyes, 


A DREAM OF HEAVEN. 


105 


and found it was all a dream, he saw a face 
bending over him, a sweet, childish face he 
knew well, — little Effie Gresley’s, — and 
by her side was her faithful nurse, who was 
looking intently into Robin’s face, and 
saying, — 

" Come away, dear Miss Effie, come 
away ; we will ask Mr. Spenser to come to 
these poor boys, for I do think the biggest 
one is very ill, is — ” 

Then Davie heard another voice say : — 
"111! he’s dead. He’ll never move again.” 
Davie caught the word, and, turning 
towards his brother with a great cry, which 
rang in every ear as the cry of an almost 
broken heart, the child threw himself on 
Robin, and piteously entreated him to speak. 

"For I am going to be good now, Rob ; 
I won’t vex you any more, Rob ; I will be 
good. O Robin ! Robin ! I have been 


106 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

learning the Song of Love, — and I won’t 
call Nance bad names no more — no more.” 

But Robin was beyond the reach of his 
little brother’s cries. The weary struggle 
and the strife were over for him. The little 
heart that had ached so sorely should ache 
no more forever. The love of Jesus had 
been shed abroad in the soul of the forlorn 
peat-cutter. And, while the one brother 
had been dreaming of the temple where the 
angels sing the new glad song, the other 
had been called to enter in, washed in the 
fountain opened for sin and unclean ness, 
clothed in the garments of salvation, finding 
the great reality of that truth his mind had 
grasped in the midst of all his trouble, and 
all his hard, homeless life, — that God is 
love, and has manifested that love to us, 
while we were yet sinners. 

Happy Robin ! 


Till. 


Ikoifrtrs |)strt. 

Effie always took her father his break- 
fast at half-past eight o’clock, and this morn- 
ing she did not fail. But her hands trem- 
bled, and her face was pale, as she put the 
tray down on the little table by Mr. Gres- 
ley’s bed, and said, "O papa, papa, you 
remember the little peat-cutters? This 
morning when nurse and I were going out 
for our early walk, we found them both 
asleep under the lime-trees. A policeman 
was looking at the elder boy ; and O papa, 
he was dead ! ” Effie covered her face, try- 
ing hard to speak calmly, for fear of agitat- 

107 


108 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

ing her father. " He has been nearly 
starved, I heard them say. Nurse says so ; 
they sent for Mr. Spenser, and he has had 
him carried into the 'Mitre.’ O papa, 
may the little boy be brought here? 
He is in such a state, crying so dreadfully 
and calling for Rob. Dear papa, nurse 
says she won’t mind taking care of him, if 
you will give leave. Mrs. Tasker wants him 
to be sent to the Union, and so does James ; 
but, O papa, you won’t let him go there, 
will you? He looked so pretty asleep under 
the tree, and there was such a smile on his 
face, papa, papa ! ” 

Mr. Gresley soothed Effie, and sympa- 
thized in her interest about the little desolate 
Davie, but said Mr. Spenser must first be 
asked if there were any danger of infection 
from the disorder of which the elder brother 
had died. 


THE BROTHERS PART. 


109 


Mr. Spenser soon came to set doubt upon 
that matter at rest, and said exhaustion, 
and hard work, and insufficient food had 
evidently caused the death of the poor boy. 
Still he advised that Davie should be taken 
to the "Mitre” in the first instance, and 
have a bath and a suit of clean clothes. 
"He will have to give evidence at the in- 
quest also,” Mr. Spenser said ; "and I think 
the old woman who professed to lodge and 
feed those poor orphan children should be 
summoned. I shall never forget how greed- 
ily she grasped what I thought it right to 
give her at the time of the railway accident. 
I gave each of the poor boys something 
also, which I doubt not she wrung out 
of them.” 

As Mr. Spenser left the room he signed 
to Effie to follow him. He saw how hard 
she was struggling to repress her feelings 


110 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

for her father’s sake, and he was so sorry 
for her. 

" You are quite a little woman now, Effie,” 
he said, kindly ; " when the poor boy is re- 
freshed by sleep and rest I will come for 
you, and you shall try to comfort him ; you 
will do it better than any one. I must now 
go and see that he is well cared for, poor, 
desolate boy ! ” 

It needed only to be desolate and sad, and 
unable to recompense Mr. Spenser for his 
medical help, to find a sure way to his heart. 
He was grave and cold — so some people 
said — to his rich patients, but to the trades- 
man, or the poor mechanic or laborer, he 
was ever tender and gentle, and overflowing 
with sympathy. Decided, too, in his or- 
ders, and bent on seeing them carried out, 
thus it was that the landlady of the public 
house, with the grand-sounding name of the 


THE BROTHERS PART. 


Ill 


"Mitre,” found herself obliged to take in 
the "little wretched object,” as she called 
Davie, see that he had a bath, and was laid 
in a comfortable bed. 

Poor Davie wept till he was exhausted, 
and then Mr. Spenser went to him, said a 
few words which none but Davie heard, and, 
giving him a composing draught, left him to 
repose. 

Meantime, little Effie was doing her best 
to settle herself to her morning occupations. 
Reading the Bible to her father was easy 
and delightful, and the few words he said 
before they knelt down together for their 
accustomed morning prayer did her good. 
But then, as the cathedral clock struck ten, 
her daily governess arrived, and Effie had 
to sit down to her lessons. It was trying 
to tell her story of the little peat-cutters to 
unsympathizing ears. Miss Windle was 


112 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

excessively shocked, she said, but it was a 
very unfit subject for Effie to dwell upon. 
She thought the child would be far better 
at the Union, and she did hope the distress- 
ing details of the inquest would be kept 
from Mr. Gresley, and that Effie would try 
to banish the whole affair from her thoughts. 
These sad cases were frequent, she feared, 
but it was best to leave them to be dealt with 
by the proper persons. And then Effie 
found herself wondering how it was Miss 
Windle could be so indifferent and so " hor- 
ribly uncharitable.” 

Miss Windle was only very much like the 
world generally, which is too apt to bestow 
a little pity and a little surprise, and a few 
exclamations of wonder and horror, as sto- 
ries of want and wretchedness, and sin and 
misery, are told in its ears, or every now 
and then present themselves sternly before 


THE BROTHERS PART. 


113 


its very eyes,' proving the great truth, 
" that things seen are mightier than things 
heard .” 

Ah, me ! there was a Hand, pure and 
stainless, that touched the leper who had 
been cast out from his people. There was 
an Eye which dwelt with the fulness of love 
and gentleness on the poor man, raging in 
the fierce grasp of unclean spirits. There 
was a Voice which, in accents of infinite 
love and pity, sounded in the ear of her 
who was crouching at his feet in an agony 
of sin and shame, feeling only that the 
shower of pitiless stones would soon crush 
her, cast by the hands of the stern Jews 
in what they thought righteous indignation. 
Ah, me ! who shall tell the love which 
thrilled through that poor, oppressed heart, 
as the question was asked, " Where are 
those thine accusers? Hath no man con- 


8 


114 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

demned thee? Neither do /condemn thee. 
Go and sin no more.” Why will we not 
strive to be more like him ; why will we 
not go to him and learn, — learn the Song 
of Love? 

It was hard to believe that Robin was 
sleeping the sleep of death, — so calm and 
peaceful he looked, the lines of want and 
care smoothed from his brow and lip, the 
smile of heaven on his still, calm face. 
When his little brother was that evening 
taken to look at him , his sobs and cries were 
hushed as he gazed upon him, and he stood 
grasping Mr. Spenser’s hand, without one 
word. 

Old Nance Bligh’s hard heart had nearly 
melted, and her exclamations of indignant 
surprise at being sent for became less vehe- 
ment ; but she tried to brave it out. 

" What had she to do with the boy’s 


THE BROTHERS PART. 


115 


dying? He had runned away, — he was 
only a lodger. She wasn’t a-going to be 
answerable for a lodger ; the boys weren’t 
nothing to her. She had had others afore 
them, and might have others after them. 
They had got their food reg’lar, and she 
had patched their clothes. She wasn’t 
a-going to buy ’em new ones, — it wasn’t 
likely, — a pair of little vagabonds like 
them.” 

But the coroner sternly bade her be silent, 
and then, other evidences being taken, he 
addressed to Nance Bligh a few words of 
caution. She had robbed the poor children 
of their earnings, and had supplied them 
with scarcely enough food. She had al- 
lowed the elder boy to work when he was 
unfit for it, and her harshness to the younger 
brother had been, from all accounts, so great, 
that the neighbors had remonstrated. No 


116 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

direct charge, punishable by law, could be 
made against her; but the coroner repri- 
manded her severely for her gross neglect 
and want of common humanity, and so she 
was dismissed. 

As she hobbled away, dirty and despised, 
looked upon with dislike and contempt, 
Davie’s blue eyes followed her. He freed 
himself from Mr. Spenser’s hand, and crept 
after her, keeping close to her as she went 
down the street to the station. At a little 
low public house Nance paused, and, seeing 
Davie, she bid him go back to his grand 
friends, and not be dogging her in that 
way. 

" Nance,” said poor Davie, " please stop. 
I have often been naughty to you, and Eob 
used to tell me I was naughty. Please , 
listen ; ” as the old woman tried to turn a 
deaf ear to him, and even pushed the child 


THE BROTHERS PART. 


117 


from her, — "please, listen. I am very 
sorry I called you bad names, Nance, and I 
am sorry for you, Nance.” 

" Sorry ! I don’t want your sorrow, bring- 
ing disgrace on a poor widow like me, and 
letting all the folks see me fetched oft* by a 
p’liceman. Get along with ’e, and go back, 
I say.” 

Davie caught the withered hand which re- 
pulsed him, and held it fast. " Our Father 
in heaven tells us to be full of love, and Rob 
used to say if we hated any one we couldn’t 
go into the Golden City.” 

Tears rushed forth as Rob’s name left his 
lips. The heart hardened by a long course 
of selfish sin, and forgetfulness of God, 
began to tremble. 

"Say you’ll forgive me, Nance, and, oh, 
do try to love God, and then you’ll love 
every one else.” 


118 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

They were the last words. Nance drew 
her hand from Davie, and pursued her lonely 
way to the station, choking with unwonted 
emotion, and wished — ah, how she wished ! 
— that she could love God. Memories arose 
within her of a sight she had often seen, — 
the two little brothers kneeling in prayer 
before they had gone to their miserable bed 
in the out-house ; memories arose, too, of 
the elder’s patient forbearance, roused only 
when he saw the younger one suffering from 
her ill-treatment. Poor, miserable old wom- 
an ! her cup of remorse was full, and so she 
returned to her cottage in the peat-field. 

Two days more, and Kobin was laid to 
rest in the church-yard of the cloisters, and 
little Davie stood alone in the wide wbrld. 
Transformed in all outward appearance from 
the ragged child who had looked up at the 
railway carriages into Effie’s face with won- 


THE BROTHERS PART. 


119 


der and admiration, he was now neatly 
dressed, and his tangled curls were cut and 
reduced to order, while his intelligent face 
was clean, and free from the great brown 
streaks which had disfigured it. Davie felt 
very strange and desolate in his new cloth- 
ing ; he found the good, stout boots provided 
for him heavy incumbrances, and, for his 
own personal comfort, he liked his loose, 
tattered clothing best. At his heart was an 
intense hungry longing for Rob, and on the 
evening of the day when he was buried, he 
crept out of Mr. Gresley’s back door, and 
went slowly across the green to the cathedral. 
The organist was practising, and the doors 
being open, Davie went in at the great west 
door, and crossed the nave to the cloister, 
where he threw himself on Robin’s newly 
made grave, and sobbed as if his heart would 
break. 


IX. 


$)abte’g Comforter. 

A gentle touch made Davie lift his head ; 
and, looking up, he saw Effie standing by 
his side. 

"Papa sent me,” she said; "we saw you 
through the cloister door, and papa wants 
you to come and talk to him ; won’t you 
come ? ” 

But Davie hid his face again in his folded 
arms, and convulsive sobbing shook his 
little frame. 

Then Effie sat down by him, and said : — 

" Do you remember how you kept close by 
me on the peat-field the night papa was 


120 


% 



• 4 A gentle touch made Pavie lift his head, and, looking up, he 

saw Effie standing by his side.” 




Peat Cutters. 











dayie’s comforter. 


121 


hurt ? Do you remember how you tried to 
comfort me, and told me about the lark you 
heard singing, and how Robin said ‘ the bird 
had been up to heaven to learn the Song of 
Love’? You did me so much good then, 
Davie, and I want to comfort you now. 
Davie, it is the Song of Love that Robin is 
now singing in heaven. You and I must 
try to sing it on earth, and you must not 
grieve too much for your brother.” 

”1 can’t do nothing without Rob,” said 
poor Davie ; " I know I can’t. I shall have 
no one to keep me from getting naughty. 1 
shall fly into passions and hit out in a rage. 
O Rob, Rob ! You don’t know how bad 
it is to be without him.” 

But Effie said, quietly, '' Yes, I think I 
do ; ” and then, with true womanly instinct, 
trying to draw Davie from his sorrow by 
encouraging him to speak of it, she added, 


122 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

" Tell me about your brother ; how long has 
he been ill? Tell me all about him.” 

And Davie was led on to tell his sympa- 
thizing listener the story of his short life, as 
much as he could remember of it. Dim 
memories of the days when he danced with 
his mother outside the show once at Wells 
on Saint Andrew’s fair day, Robin said. 
Dim recollections of the night of horror 
which had decided Robin to leave the show 
at once and forever. 

Then of the life on the peat-field, — the 
troubles and the hardships which the poor 
friendless children had encountered together. 
They had changed their position on the peat- 
field from time to time ; at last, falling into 
Nance Bligh’s hands, just as the new railway 
was opened as far as Eddington. Then of 
the book which Mr. Gresley had thrown out 
of the window, and the comfort it had been 


davie’s comforter. 


123 


to Robin. " He used to go on saying the 
texties out of that book, and teaching ’em 
to me ; and then he picked up the Testament 
out of the rubbish after the accident, and he 
used to learn himself to read it, and I used 
to hear him praying so hard, that he might 
believe that God was love, and teach me to 
believe it. He wasn’t well before the time 
of the accident, and he used often to talk of 
coming to Wells ; but I expect he felt too ill. 
He used to give me his dinner most days, 
and say he didn’t want it. A week ago he 
was working in the sun, and he fell down 
very faint and bad, and when he came to 
himself he said, ' We must go now, Davie ; 
we must go to Wells now, where the big 
church is ; ’ and a day or two after we came. 
He said he’d try to find you out. He know’d 
you and the gentleman would be kind to us, 
and so you be kind to me — to me. But, 


124 


THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 


oh, I don’t like to have such uice dinners, 
and all these good clothes, and such a nice 
bed, and to think that Rob never, never had 
it at all — that he died. He died because 
he had no one to look after him. Some- 
times I think I’d better go back to Nance 
Bligh. I can’t bear to be so much better off 
than Rob was; I can’t — I can’t.” 

Passionate tears came gushing forth again ; 
and then Mr. Gresley, who had been watch- 
ing his little daughter’s ministry of love 
from a distance, came up nearer the chil- 
dren. 

" Davie,” he said, as he caught the last 
words, "your brother is a great deal better 
off now than you or me, or the greatest 
prince on earth. Come home with me, and 
I will tell you what I mean to do. You 
shall work for me in my garden, and in the 
house too, and I will feed and clothe you, 


davie’s comforter. 


125 


and you shall be taught to read and write, 
and to know those things which shall help 
you to walk in the narrow way ; to follow 
your brother to the house of many man- 
sions, — the home of our Father who is the 
God of love.” 

And so Mr. Gresley took under his roof 
the little peat-cutter. Mrs. Tasker, the 
cook, prophesied that Davie would be a 
deal of trouble, — break cups and mugs in- 
numerable, and do no end of mischief. The 
gardener looked on him suspiciously, and 
said, " The Union was the place for tramps ; 
and that, of all master’s whimsies, this was 
the oddest.” James, the faithful man-ser- 
vant in-doors, ignored poor Davie alto- 
gether, and never addressed a word to 
him, good or bad. The housemaid followed 
the example of her superiors ; and nurse 
alone, of all Mr. Gresley’s household, be- 


126 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

friended Davie and regarded him with some 
affection. 

He went to to school every morning, and 
got on fast with his lessons. Every even- 
ing Mr. Gresley instructed him in the Bible, 
and every Sunday he had a hymn and a 
portion of Scripture from Rob’s Testament 
to repeat to him. Robin had taught him to 
read easy words, and there was no posses- 
sion so precious as the little well-thumbed 
and dirty book, and the worn Testament in 
which poor Robin had found the words 
which had revived his fainting spirit ; and 
which were, with the few pence Davie had 
mentioned, the only things found in his 
pocket as he lay sleeping his last sleep on 
the cathedral green. 

The summer advanced, Mr. Gresley grew 
stronger, and in September he left home 
with Effie for a journey to Scotland, which, 


davie’s comforter. 


127 


it was hoped, would do much to restore 
him to his wouted health. Davie’s heart 
failed him as he saw the carriage drive 
away, and he felt that, with Mr. Gresley, 
and Effie, and kind, good nurse, his best 
friends were gone. That James was also 
one of the travelling party was some com- 
fort ; but poor Davie felt that not one of the 
servants left was really friendly to him ; and 
thus it proved. He tried hard to please 
them; but, partly from jealousy of the 
favor the child had found with their mas- 
ter, and partly from a perhaps not unnat- 
ural distrust of a " boy picked up out of the 
streets,” they said, Davie’s path was made 
anything but easy for him. But his cheer- 
ful, bright spirit held him on his way. He 
worked hard in the garden, at weeding and 
such inferior parts of the work as the gar- 
dener appointed him. He took a pleasure 


128 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

in blacking the maids’ boots to a polish 
equal to that with which he loved to make 
Miss Elbe’s and the dear master’s shine. 
He was at every one’s beck and call, and 
bore all the slights and insinuations made 
against him with a brave heart. He tried 
to keep ever in mind the Song of Love, and 
would fight and struggle with his inclination 
to be saucy to Mrs. Tasker, the cook, and 
rebel against the gardener, and say over to 
himself the words Rob had so often said to 
him : " He that dwelleth in love dwelleth 
in God.” 

Poor Davie ! He sometimes began to 
feel the time long before his master and lit- 
tle mistress returned. Now and then he 
would venture to ask a question of Mrs. 
Tasker as to whether Mr. Gresley was com- 
ing soon. But she used to bid him look to 
his work, and not trouble himself about the 


davie’s comforter. 


129 


master, he would come neither the sooner 
nor the later for wishing it, — not he. And 
so the weeks went by, and the days grew 
short, and the autumn winds sighed through 
the lime-trees, and the sere and yellow 
leaves floated sadly to the damp, chill 
ground. The dark November weather 
brooded over Wells, and but faint and sick- 
ly gleams of sunshine now shot across the 
cathedral green. At last the universal quiet 
and stillness of the city were broken by the 
great fair of Saint Andrew’s day. One by 
one, for several days previously, shows of 
various sorts and sizes had taken up their 
positions in the market-place. A wonder- 
ful giant was in one, a dwarf in another, 
wax-works, and peep-shows, and shooting 
galleries, and booths with gingerbread and 
toys, displaying their treasures to the ad- 
miring eyes of the Wells children. And 


9 


130 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

foremost in the list of attractions was 
Browne’s Adelphi, with its mimic stage and 
discordant band, and its poor, dressed-up 
clowns, cracking their idle jokes, and its 
miserable women, in their short dresses, 
shivering as they stepped out upon the 
platform to allure the people up the steps, 
and into the show itself. 

1 could never tell you what was the noise 
and confusion of Wells market-place as the 
evening drew in on the thirtieth of No- 
vember. Not a stone’s throw from the 
quiet of the cathedral green, where the 
grand old church stood in its gray solem- 
nity, was all the babble, and riot, and 
mistaken chase for pleasure amongst the 
variety of shows which I have described. 

Little Davie, after his work was done that 
day, went some errands for Mrs. Tasker, 
the cook, and, just as he was leaving the 


dayie’s comforter. 


131 


kitchen, she called to him not to linger 
about amongst the shows ; if she caught 
him doing such a thing she would let Mr. 
Gresley hear of it, he might depend on 
that. 

" Pray, when is the master and the little 
lady coming home, ma’am ? ” Davie asked for 
the fiftieth time, and received for answer, 
" That’s no business of yours ; ” and had to 
content himself with reading over the two 
letters Effie had printed to him, in the last 
of which she said that she hoped to be home 
now very soon ; Mr. Gresley was nearly 
well again. That letter had been received 
three weeks ago, and still no Effie came ; 
and on this wet afternoon, as Davie skipped 
away to do the cook’s errands, he said to 
himself : — 

" It was his business more than anybody’s 
else, for all Mrs. Tasker might say.” 


132 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

Having been on all his errands, Davie 
thought he would return by the market- 
place, and just have a look at the shows ; 
not go into any of them, but just see what 
they were like. 

It would have been better for Davie if he 
had gone straight home, — better if he had 
done as Mrs. Tasker bid him, — and not 
lingered in the crowd. But curiosity just 
to see the outside of the different exhibitions 
prevailed ; and Davie fell in with two boys 
whom he knew at school, who told him the 
wax-works were wonderful ; " and there 
was Daniel in the lions’ den, just like life, — 
Daniel rolling up his eyes, and the lions 
roaring.” 

"Yes, and there’s Browne’s, too,” said 
another boy. " My sister is going in there 
soon ; she half-promised to take me, and I 
mean to wait for her. Come on ; there’s 


davie’s comforter. 


133 


the clowns coming out now, and one of the 
dancers ; let us go nearer.” 

But Davie drew his arm away from his 
companion. The name of Browne’s Adelphi 
sent his thoughts back to the past. Yes, 
that was the name of the show Robin had 
told him about so often. That was the 
name of the stepfather who had been so un- 
kind to his mother; it was on that very 
stage that he had danced when he was six 
years old, nearly three years ago, but some- 
how he seemed to remember it now. 

"No, I must go home,” said Davie; "I 
don’t want to stay ; let me go.” 

But his school-fellow laughed, and pulled 
Davie roughly on ; he was still a little boy, 
and very small for his age. 

" No, I won’t,” said Davie, getting angry ; 
and some of the old bad words nearly rising 
to his lips. 


134 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

" Won’t ! eh — won’t ! ” said the big boy, 
" we’ll see about that; and you shall stand 
treat too ; and we will have a look at the 
inside of the show as well as the outside, 
you little baby; cry, baby, cry ! that’s it.” 

Davie made one more desperate effort to 
free himself from his tormentor, when, alas ! 
his foot slipped, the basket was upset, and 
the crowd closed round him, and he was 
very nearly stilled and trod upon. He re- 
gained his feet, but found all his parcels dis- 
persed hither and thither, the boy who had 
caused the mischief gone, and he left to 
grope about on the wet ground for the con- 
tents of his basket as best he could. He 
was on his knees, close to the steps leading 
up to the stage, scrambling to recover a ball 
of string which had rolled under them, when 
the din of the band ceased, the clowns had 
gone into the show, and the spectators were 


davie’s comforter. 


135 


assembled there. Then Davie heard a voice 
above him saying : — 

" What are you about there ? ” 

Davie raised his pretty, childish face, 
which w r as flushed with vexation and dis- 
tress, and the flaring lamp which lighted the 
stage revealed to him a man who was look- 
ing over the railing. The man came down 
the steps the next moment, and, laying his 
hand on Davie’s shoulder, said, "Come 
along with me ; you shall see the dancing, 
and hear the singing, for nothing.” 

Davie was going to say he couldn’t, — 
that he must go home ; but he had no time ; 
he was pushed along by the side of the 
caravan, up some steps behind it, and found 
himself presently in a close, stuffy little 
room, which seemed strangely familiar, and 
where a woman, who was quite deaf, was 
crouching over the small fire. 


136 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

"Look you here,” said the man, who was 
no other than the master of Browne’s 
Adelphi; "I have locked the door, and 
here’s the key. I don’t open it till you tell 
me your name.” 

" David Malton,” said the child, losing all 
his presence of mind in his fear, and speak- 
ing in a low, trembling voice. 

"And how old are you?” 

"Going in nine, sir.” 

"Ah, very good ; well, it’s lucky we’ve 
met. And pray, wdiere is your brother 
Bobin, — the one that had the dark eyes, 
and ran away with you three years ago come 
next Lady Day ? Speak up, — where is 
he?” 

" He is in heaven ! ” sobbed poor Davie. 
" Oh, please, sir, let me go home, — home to 
Mr. Gresley’s, — the gentleman who has 
been so kind to me ; and please, sir, let me 


davie’s comforter. 


137 


find Mrs. Tasker’s parcels, and take them 
home.” 

" No, no, my boy but a thrill ran through 
the man, hardened as he was, Davie looked 
so like his mother, — looked just as she used 
to look when she implored to be allowed to 
give up dancing and singing ! — just as she 
had looked that last night ! 

"No, no, my boy ; you’ll stay with me 
now ; you are just what I want for the 
tight-rope, and for all manner of things of 
that kind. Your figure is light enough, and 
we’ll soon bend it into shape. You’ll do 
beautifully ; so you may make up your 
mind to stay where you are. The old lady 
there is as deaf as a post ; it’s no use your 
screaming at her, and if you make a row, so 
that it’s heard outside, why, you know, I 
have got a thing I can stuff down your 
throat, and a few strong ropes which will 


138 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

prevent your dancing till I choose. Now I 
am off ; you can roll yourself up in that little 
bed, and the sooner you go to sleep the bet- 
ter. It’s a pity you aint a girl ; your face 
would be your fortune ; but we’ll see if your 
legs and arms won’t be mine — ha, ha ! ” and 
then, opening a door at the further end 
of the room, he was heard to bolt it on 
the other side, and Davie was left with 
the woman. Cries and entreaties were of no 
avail ; Davie was quite exhausted with the 
vain efforts he made to find a way of escape. 
At last, convinced that there was indeed 
none, he sank in a state of despair and 
wretchedness upon the little bed in the cor- 
ner, and lost the sense of his misery in 
sleep. The old woman watched him, but 
did not speak. When he was quiet, she 
took a tallow candle in her hand, and 
peered down into Davie’s face. 


dayie’s comforter. 


139 


"Ay, ay,” she murmured, "it is poor 
Nellie’s child ; he is the picture of her — the 
very picture. Poor lamb ! he’d better have 
died than fallen into Browne’s hands — ay, 
have died. I wonder where the tother one 
is, — he with the dark eyes? Well, well, I 
can’t interfere. Browne alius does as he 
likes, and all the words in the world is 
wasted on him. Poor lamb ! — poor lamb ! 
he’d better sleep, and never wake no more.” 


X. 


Itost anti Jfnnntr. 

It was on the second of December that Mr. 
Gresley and his little daughter found them- 
selves once more at home. Mr. Gresley 
was now quite like himself, and Effie felt 
glad and happy as she stepped out of the 
carriage, and was met by Mrs. Tasker and 
the other servants. 

"Poor little Davie ! how glad he will be 
to see us ! ” Effie had exclaimed, as the car- 
riage stopped ; and then she had said, as she 
missed his little figure in the hall, "Why, 
he is not here ! Mrs. Tasker, where is 
Davie ? — Where is little Davie Malton ? ” 


140 


LOST AND FOUND. 


141 


" Indeed, miss, that’s more than I know,” 
was the only reply Mrs. Tasker vouchsafed. 
"I am pleased to see you looking so well, 
and you too, sir.” 

"But where is Davie?” Effie repeated. 
"Nurse, Davie Malton is not here. Mrs. 
Tasker, do tell me what is wrong ? ” 

"Nothing is wrong, Miss Effie, further 
than you can’t change the nature of folks, 
nor wash blackamores white. Tramps have 
their habits, and we have ours. The little 
boy made off on the Fair Day with a basket 
of provisions, and has never been heard of 
since. No doubt he has gone off with a set 
of people like those he has been accustomed 
to. /don’t know.” 

" But have you made no inquiry ? ” asked 
Mr. Gresley. " The child is an orphan, and 
friendless. I must have a search instituted 
for him.” 


142 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

But Mrs. Tasker told her tale again, and 
so put the story of the basket, as to leave 
no doubt in James’s mind that the child had 
wilfully absconded. Mr. Gresley was re- 
minded that Davie had once belonged to one 
of those travelling shows, and he began to 
think it not improbable that Davie had been 
persuaded to go away with one of them. He* 
thought, also, that the gardener and Mrs. 
Tasker might have been hard taskmasters, 
and that poor Davie had rebelled against 
their authority; but he could not reconcile 
the story of the basket with his opinion of 
the child’s honesty and good feeling. 

Poor Effie was greatly distressed; her 
faith in Davie was unshaken, and she was 
delighted to find, when nurse attended her 
to bed, that she held fast in her allegiance 
to him also. 

" It is not likely that a pound of tea and 


LOST AND FOUND. 


143 


a few odds and ends like them in Mrs. Tasker’s 
basket should be enough to tempt the poor 
child to run off ; it isn’t likely,” said nurse, 
as she drew the brush slowly through Effie’s 
golden curls. ” No, something is amiss ; 
the child would never have forsaken us, the 
only friends he had in the world. We shall 
find him again, Miss Effie, never fear. We 
must pray for the poor, desolate child ; that’s 
what we must do.” And Effie did not fail 
to do so, but she lay awake a long time 
thinking about Davie; and just as she was 
sinking off to sleep she roused herself and 
called nurse. 

" O nurse, dear,” she said, " a thought has 
come into my mind about Davie. He has 
told me — he told us all — that he and Robin 
once went about with one of those travelling 
shows that go to the country fairs. Davie 
could scarcely remember it himself, but I 


144 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

know he said his mother had married the 
master of a show, who was very cruel to 
her, and to him and Rob too. Do you 
think, nurse, that he has been taken away 
by some of those people again ? ” 

Nurse could not tell, but the next morn- 
ing Mr. Spenser and Mr. Gresley consulted 
together, and the policemen were told to 
make inquiries at the neighboringtowns, for 
the shows had all cleared away from Wells. 
Inquiries were made, but nothing was heard 
of little Davie. Mr. Browne was far too 
cautious to allow him to slip through his 
fingers again. Poor Davie’s light, supple 
figure was trained to go through a great 
variety of positions. He had to dance, and 
put his poor little body into numberless un- 
natural postures. He was scolded and 
beaten if he failed, and when he succeeded 
he was rewarded with drink, or at least it 


LOST AND FOUND. 


145 


was offered to him, bat for the most part he 
refused. He saw what effect it had on the 
poor men and women who belonged to the 
Adelphi, and noticed how the unnatural 
spirits with which the drink inspired them 
died out of them, and left them every morn- 
ing depressed and wretched, quarrelling 
with each other, and scarcely able to bear 
the weary routine of their existence from 
day to day. 

Davie was kept very closely to the show, 
and more and more so as the time went on, 
and the yearly route which the show took 
brought the Adelphi into Somersetshire once 
more. This had been Davie’s great hope, 
that when at Wells he might be seen by 
some of his old friends, and be rescued from 
his state of misery. Meantime, the child 
did try bravely to keep the Song of Love 
in mind. He did bravely try to keep alive 


10 


146 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

the memory of his dead brother’s counsels, 
and to think overall Mr. Gresley’s teaching. 
He had no books, and no outward help, but 
he had learned a good many texts from God’s 
Holy Word, and several hymns, and he used 
to say these over to himself every night be- 
fore he closed his eyes. 

He was kept very much apart from the 
other people employed by Mr. Browne, and 
his time, when not on the stage or in the 
show itself, was spent in the room where 
the deaf woman pursued her cooking opera- 
tions for the whole troupe. Davie heard 
many bad words, and saw evil passions run- 
ning riot, and he used sometimes, poor child, 
to be off his guard, and would give way to 
temper, and pour forth a string of names to 
those who offended him. But he was always 
penitent after the burst was over, and would 
kneel in the corner of the little, but dark 


LOST AND FOUND. 


147 


room, praying that he might be forgiven, 
praying to keep the Song of Love ever in 
his heart, and the pattern of the Holy Child 
before his eyes. 

At last the Adelphi reached, in its annual 
round, a town near Wells; and here, to 
Davie’s great surprise, Mr. Browne told him 
he was to bo left for a week with the deaf 
woman, who would see after him. He 
would have a little bit of holiday, Browne 
said; and when they had been to Wells, 
they would pick him up again. As Mr. 
Browne made this communication to Davie 
he watched him narrowly. The little, pale 
face changed in its expression, — the same 
sad, pleading look shone out of the boy’s 
blue eyes as out of his mother’s years before. 
Remorse used always to make Browne ten 
times more hard and cruel to Davie when 
he fancied that he looked the most like 


148 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

his departed mother. He now said, fierce- 

"Look here, David, it’s no manner of use 
your trying to run away from me ; 1 should 
trap you and get you back before many 
hours was over. 'And,* he said, threaten- 
ingly, 'And,’ when I did catch you, I’d 
make you repent that ever you tried it on to 
leave me. You can’t do it; I am too many 
for you. So you may as well make up your 
mind to do your best ; and you know you 
are a pretty dancer, and there aint a boy of 
nine who can beat you at tumbling. Heaps 
of folks have said they never saw the like ; 
so you just go on and do credit to my good 
teaching, and who knows but your fortune 
will be made at last, and you’ll grow up to 
be something great in this line.” 

"But I don’t like it,” said poor Davie. 
"I hate it. I would give anything if you’d 


LOST AND FOUND. 


149 


let me go back to Mr. Gresley, or even to 
the peat-field. Oh ! ” he said, with a burst 
of tears, " oh, do let me go. I’d rather starve, 
I’d rather die than stay here ! ” 

" Would you?” was Browne’s reply, with 
a mocking laugh. "It aint good taste, but 
that’s a thing there’s been no accounting for 
from the day that the old lady in the story 
kissed her Brindle cow. Come,” he said ; 
" no more nonsense, but go off and do that 
new trick on Hall’s shoulder till you get it 
to perfection.” 

" Oh ! there is no hope now,” thought 
poor little Davie ; " I shall never see them 
again now. I shall get bad and wicked, and 
then I shan’t see Rob again in heaven.” 

But with thoughts of Rob came a better 
feeling. There was a hymn, too, which Effie 
had taught him, when he had told her of his 
dream, about a Holy Dove which sings to 


150 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

every Christian child, and she had explained 
to him that it meant that the Holy Spirit of 
God would not leave the humbled heart 
that prayed him to remain, and make it fit 
to be his temple. So Davie, sorely tried 
and tempted as he was, took courage ; and, 
in his little way, he did struggle hard to let 
the echo of the Song of Love be heard in all 
his words and ways, and every one con- 
nected with the show was inclined to love 
the pretty child who was so winning, and, 
for the most part, so gentle and forbear- 
ing. 

The deaf woman had plenty of business 
to occupy her in the stationary week she 
was to pass at Shepton. She had to wash 
up all the linen belonging to the show, which 
was not often favored with the process, and 
to mend and repair it also. 

Davie was a great help, and all went 


LOST AND FOUND. 


151 


smoothly for the first two days. He was 
able to hold more communication with his 
companion than many could have done, for 
his clear treble voice seemed to penetrate 
into the silence and stillness which encom- 
passed poor Sue more than any other did. 
And Sue liked Davie, and was kind to him 
in her way. , 

When the bells were ringing for church 
on Sunday, Davie said : — 

"May I go to church, Sue? please let 
me.” 

"I daren’t, my dear. No — no, bide 
quiet; it will be better for you. I know it 
will.” 

Old Sue was enjoying the rest and still- 
ness of Sunday in the little garret at the top 
of the public house in Shepton, which she 
and Davie inhabited, and which Browne 
paid for as lodgings. 


152 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

The November day was bright and warm, 
and the sun came slanting in at the lattice 
window with a pleasant warmth. Sue was 
quite content to spend her Sunday so. She 
had in store for Davie a nice dinner, and in- 
tended to treat herself and him with a little 
grog to finish with. 

But Davie was urgent. 

" Sue, dear Sue,” he said, putting his 
mouth close to her ear, "I promise to come 
back after church. I don’t mean to run 
away,” he added, hopelessly. " I am try- 
ing to believe that God will let me get away 
from this horrid life when the right time 
comes. Sue, I wish you would come to 
church too.” 

" Lor ! bless the child ; I hasn’t been to 
church for years and years. What’s the 
good? I am as deaf as a post. I can’t hear 
nothing but a buz-buz when the organ plays 


LOST AND FOUND. 


153 


up, and I can’t hear a word from the min- 
ister. 

The bells were still chiming, and Davie 
made ope more effort. 

"Sue, dear, let me go.” But Sue was 
resolute. She bade Davie hold his tongue, 
and wondered how he could wish to get a 
poor woman like her into a scrape with 
Browne. 

"Why, he’d pretty near break every bone 
in my skin if you were not here when he 
corned back. There is always a full house 
when you are acting ; you are worth a deal 
of money to Browne, and he knows it.” 

So poor Davie relapsed into silence, gaz- 
ing out of the high attic window, from which 
he could see the beautiful Somersetshire 
fields stretched out, and a line of blue hills 
in the distance, purple in the morning light. 
The church-bells ceased, and the Sunday 


154 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

stillness was unbroken. Poor Davie sat de- 
jected and sad, wishing he had a book — 
only a book — he should forget how to read 
soon — if he had only a book ! 

He seemed further off than ever from es- 
cape and freedom, and great tears trickled 
down his pale cheeks. He had no spirit to 
eat his dinner ; and when Sue had taken a 
strong glass of gin and water, and fell asleep 
in her chair, snoring loudly, as deaf people 
always do, poor Davie grew quite desper- 
ate. 

" She will sleep for hours,” Davie thought ; 
and then he went to the door, and gently 
opened it, passing out, and down the nar- 
row staircase of the inn, with stealthy steps. 
"I will come back,” he said to himself; "I 
will not bring Sue into trouble ; but I must 
try and get to church for once.” 

As he passed the sanded parlor of the 


LOST AND FOUND. 


155 


public house he heard loud talking and 
laughing, and he went on unnoticed. No 
church-bells were ringing, for the service 
was in the evening ; but he saw a little boy 
and girl, with books in their hands, going 
into a pretty cottage, with pointed roofs, 
which was a school-house ; and Davie 
plucked up courage and followed them. 
When he got inside he saw the girls were 
at one end of the room, and the boys at 
the other; and he stood shy and fright- 
ened, not knowing what do do. Presently 
a lady came down from the top of the room 
and said : — 

" Where do you live, little boy? Are 
you a new scholar for us ? ” She had a most 
pleasant voice, and a bright smile. 

Davie took courage. "Please, ma’am, I 
should like to stay if you’ll let me, and hear 
you read ; but I don’t live here.” 


156 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

" Where do you live ? ” the lady then 
asked. 

David held vn his head, and his face 
grew crimson. " I travel about, ma’am, 
he of the shows ; but — ” 

He was stopped by a cry of glad surprise 
from a young lady who was teaching a class 
of little girls near to where he stood. " Oh, 
it is — it is David Malton, Mrs. Scott ; that 
is the little boy, the little peat-cutter I have 
so often told you about. O Davie, Davie, 
I am so glad ! ” 

Mrs. Scott was the wife of the clergyman 
at Shepton, who was an old friend of Mr. 
Gresley’s, and had lately come into the 
neighborhood, and it was to her Sunday 
school where David had been led. But 
Effie had to repress her eagerness till after 
the school was over ; and Davie was told to 
join a class of boys Mrs. Scott was teach- 


LOST AND FOUND. 


157 


ing, and to wait afterwards till she could 
hear his story. 

What a happy hour it ^ ;> s to the poor 
child ! Again he heard tho words of Life 
and Love from God’s own Word. Once mor*- 
he heard the sound of prayer and praise ris- 
ing to the God of love; and, when the last 
prayer was said, Davie still knelt on, weep- 
ing happy tears. He was taken back to the 
vicarage to tea, and there he told his story 
to Mr. and Mrs. Scott, Effie standing by 
and listening with tearful eyes. 

In one thing David was firm, he must go 
back to old Sue ; he could not get her 
into trouble. He would not break his word 
to her for anything. So it was settled that 
he should go back to her, and that Mr. 
Scott should ride over to Wells the next 
day and communicate with Mr. Gresley as 
to the best course to pursue. 


158 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

Effie was very unwilling to lose sight of 
Davie again ; but it was decided that it was 
better that he should return to his deaf 
friend, and Mrs. Scott promised that every 
care should be taken to prevent blame fall- 
ing upon her. Old Sue was awake when 
Davie went back, and inclined to be very 
angry with him. But when he kissed her, 
in his pretty way, and told her how happy he 
had been at a Sunday school, she could not 
resist him, and said, when she bid him good- 
night, she hoped he wouldn’t run away, for 
he was the only comfort she had. 

Oh, wasn’t Davie glad to hear old Sue 
say that ! " It does look as if I had been 
trying to live in love,” he said to himself 
as he fell asleep. 1 "Rob would be glad to 
hear her say that, — perhaps he does hear 
her, — who knows?” 

Another week had gone by, and little 


LOST AND FOUND. 


159 


Davie Malton was reinstated in his place at 
Mr. Gresley’s. Browne’s demands for 
compensation for the loss of Davie were 
sternly refused by Mr. Gresley. He had 
no legal claim on the child, and had treated 
his mother and his brother with cruelty, to 
which the mothers life had fallen a sacrifice. 
Mr. Browne was too glad quietly to relin- 
quish Davie ; and, to protect Sue from his 
wrath, she was removed from the show, at 
her own earnest entreaty, and was helped 
to establish herself as a washerwoman in 
Wells, and encouraged to earn an honest 
living. 

Years passed, and little Effie had grown 
into womanhood ; a party of her father’s 
friends, including Lottie and Alice Falcon- 
er, assembled on the lawn behind his house 
on the cathedral green to celebrate her 
eighteenth birthday. There was a tent gayly 


160 THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS. 

decorated, where a number of the school 
children of Wells were gathered at tea, and 
over this part of the entertainment a young 
man-servant of Mr. Gresley ’s, scarcely 
more than a boy in years, presided. 

"Where did you find that servaut of 
yours?” a gentleman asked of Mr. Gresley. 
" He seems so superior to the ordinary run 
of boys of that age, for he is still but a 
boy.” 

Mr. Gresley smiled and said, " I found 
him on the cathedral green some years ago, 
and I believe Effie can tell you that she 
found him on the peat-field near Edding- 
ton.” 

Effie was too busy to tell the story just 
then, but her face brightened as her father 
addressed her, and she said, "Some day I 
will tell you all about our little peat-cut- 
ter.” 


LOST AND FOUND. 


161 


And now we will leave Davie, in the hope 
that a word here and there in this history 
of his childhood may encourage others to 
keep ever the echo of the Song of Love in 
their hearts ; and, having learned it them- 
selves, to try to teach it to others. For, 
indeed, it is the music which alone can 
cheer us on our way. The key-note is 
struck in heaven ; and one day, if we are 
faithful to the end, we shall join in the glad 
chorus of the angelic host, — that bright 
throng which is redeemed to God from all 
peoples, and tongues, and nations, but 
which, when once gathered in their Father’s 
mansions above, shall find that they all sing 
one song, even the Song of Love and Praise 
to Him by whose precious blood a place in 
that beautiful home is made ready for all 
believers. 


THE END. 
















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